On the North Winds
by generalzoi
Summary: When she is five years old, Anna wakes in the middle of the woods to her parents calling for her sister. She is cold and confused and above all frightened, because Elsa is gone, and they can't find her no matter how desperately they search. They don't know that the north winds have carried her away, or that it will take thirteen years to find her.
1. Chapter 1

**Original A/N: **A couple things before we get started. This story will eventually be Anna/Elsa, but it's a slow burn because I have to cover their entire lives up until they find each other again. Also this will probably be a very long story.

I wanted to bring in the Robber Girl from the original fairy tale, but since she's a scant (but awesome) character I had to flesh a lot out myself, and the robber girl you see here is mostly an OC. I tried to keep the spirit of the Robber Girl from the original story though. If you don't like non-canon characters at all, this might not be the story for you.

Much thanks to Mag for being my pre-reader, sounding board, and for providing the lovely separator images you see below. I couldn't have done it without her.

**Editied A/N:** This is a story I've been posting to Ao3 for a while now. Someone suggested I post it to this site, so I decided to give it a shot. I'll be posting a new chapter every two days until it's caught up to Ao3 (around chapter 11 or 12), and then it'll have a weekly update schedule. If you're curious though you can look it up on Ao3, and also see the lovely separator images that you can't actually see on this site.

* * *

_You're okay, Anna, I've got you._

—

The ice was spreading, creeping up the walls, along the bookcase, crossing the minute gap between each volume. Snow brushed her cheeks and forearms, settled in her hair and gathered around her feet. Elsa wished as hard as she could that it would _stop_, that it would _go away_. But the snow wouldn't stop, and Anna wouldn't wake up, and even the wishing hurt.

Mama had bundled little Anna in a blanket and rocked her like she was a baby again, making soothing and shushing noises, even though Anna still hadn't spoken or moved at all. Papa was flipping through a large book, his movements awkward and exaggerated, almost violent with frustrated purpose. Elsa's throat was tight and painful; her chest heaved erratically. Tears stung her eyes, and she wanted to cry, wanted to apologize again, but it was hard to draw breath and she was sure any sound she let out would get caught on the lump in her throat and choke her.

"Here," her father said, and reached for her. She flinched, hard, but he was only resting a hand on her shoulder. "Elsa, we're going to get help. I need you to be brave a little while longer."

Brave? She didn't know how to be brave. The idea of it slid like oil down her throat, tickled her lungs, came out as a choked sob. But little Anna was still so cold and pale, and she nodded as best she could.

He guided her from the library then. His hand was gently firm, but his stride was quick and purposeful, and she stumbled to keep up. Every step his shoes went _crunch_ on the snow beneath them, the snow she couldn't banish, and it was loud and frightening and wrong wrong _wrong_.

He released her as they approached the stables; strode ahead, threw open the doors, and commanded, "Go, get out of here!" in a voice that made her quake. There was a gasp, a thump, and rapidly fading footsteps as the stable boy fled.

He fetched two horses, two sets of tack, and set about dressing them. But it was taking such a long time, and Elsa felt every second like a blow. What if they were too late? She stole a glance at her mother, who had not once looked away from her youngest daughter, and now pressed a kiss to her cold cheek.

"Elsa." One horse stood fully tacked, and her father had begun the second. "We must hurry. Can you get on?"

She nodded again, and fetched the small wooden steps she used for riding lessons. The palace horses were well trained and gentle natured, but as she reached for the horn of the saddle, the horse flinched and began to dance on nervous feet, confused by the swell of icy wind on the warm night.

"Papa!" she cried, at the same time her mother said, "Josef," and handed him Anna so she could mount her own steed.

"I'm coming, Elsa," he said. Anna changed hands again, and he quickly climbed into the saddle and pulled Elsa into place behind him. "Hold very tightly to me, Elsa, and don't let go." She did, fisting her hands in the fabric of his coat and burying her face against his back, where she couldn't see the light in the sky, or the snow falling around them, or Anna's still and silent body. And with a lurch, they were off.

—

Kristoff couldn't hear the large ice cart anymore, or see its lanterns bobbing through the forest. That was all right; he and Sven were a team. They didn't need anyone to take care of them, and they knew this path perfectly well. It was kind of fun being on their own, he thought. He could pull twigs off bushes and tie them in knots and sing any songs he liked. It was like being on an adventure, almost, or like being a grown up. He felt very grown up indeed, harvesting the ice all by himself, with his own tools and his own sled.

Maybe it was because he couldn't hear the men in the large cart that he could hear the hoofbeats approaching, far away but covering ground quickly. If he hadn't turned in time he wouldn't have seen the horses fly past, maybe wouldn't have known which way they were going. But he did see them, and more than that; sparks of blue and flurries of white, covering the ground in a perfectly formed path of ice.

"Ice?" he said instinctively. Kristoff knew ice. He knew where it could be found, and when. He knew it fell from the sky as snow, and covered the ground as frost, and could reach not just all the way across a lake, but deep down beneath it's surface too.

He had never seen ice falling from horseback, ice that formed when the weather was warm and then only along one trail.

He had never seen a witch either, but the ice men insisted they were real. Kristoff had always known it to be true, so when he saw ice that shouldn't be it took only a moment to understand what was happening.

"Magic ice!" he cried, and hopped up to quickly unhitch Sven. "Come on, buddy!" Their sled and tools and normal ice could wait. There was magic in the mountains, and they would find it. He clambered onto Sven's back and took off.

—

The rough fabric of her papa's coat had rubbed Elsa's damp cheeks red and raw, and it was this soreness that finally made her lift her head. The ride was rough, and her bones ground together with each unsteady bounce. Mama was racing next to them, one hand on the reins and the other clutching the bundle that was Anna. Elsa wanted to shrink away, or maybe huddle closer. Either way there was nowhere to go, and her hands flexed reflexively, uselessly.

Then she felt it. The familiar prickle of ice scraping against her palms, of snow brushing against her knuckles.

Her stomach dropped, and she whipped her head forward. There, on her father's jacket—frost, creeping inward and around. She gasped, wrenching her hands away. There was another large bump that lifted her from her seat; then, for an instant, the jostling beneath her stopped, and the ride was smooth. For an instant she saw not trees, but the sky, beautiful and brilliant and strangely blurred.

Then she hit the ground, and there was a shock of nothing: no breath, no voice, no stars, no comprehension. Until pain blossomed in her head and her back, and she understood.

She tumbled; came to a stop on her belly, scrambled to her knees and tried to call out. _Papa!_ But her breath hadn't returned, and a sharp pain was spreading behind her eyes, ringing in her ears. She gasped, struggled desperately to her feet, and tried to call out again.

The words caught in her throat. In front of her, her parents raced onwards. Raced to save Anna. What if they had to turn back? What if it took too long, what if they were too late to help her? The guilt was like a rock in her stomach, and the pain in her head and shoulders felt like an extension of it. Felt almost right. And still there was snow, snow all around her.

"Stop it!" she begged her hands, her feet. "Go away!" she cried at the ice gathering on the ground. In front of her was Anna's salvation. Behind her was a trail of the very ice that had hurt her, stretched as far as she could see. Both paths seemed impossibly difficult. Elsa clutched her face, sobbed, and fled into the forest.

—

The ice men liked their stories, stories and song to pass the time and make the hard work a little easier. Most of the stories made no sense to Kristoff; they were stories for men, not boys, and he would instead play with Sven until someone came hollering for him. The ice master and his wife fed him, gave him a little cot and clothes their sons used to wear, but didn't care where he was so as long as he came back in time to finish his chores.

Sometimes though, one of the men would tell a story of magic or witches or trolls, and Kristoff would creep in close, as quiet as he could, and listen. Of course there's magic in the mountains, he thought, and magic in winter and in ice too, of course! How could it be any other way? He only hadn't seen it yet because he was so young. Because he was new to the mountains and the harvesting. But now the mountains were giving him his own story to tell.

He didn't know exactly where the ice was coming from until he saw the girl fall. Only he was so far away he didn't know it was a fall at first; he saw an arch of snow, frost splashing across the trees like water disturbed by a stone, and then the girl, struggling to her feet.

He almost reared Sven to keep him from getting too close. You had to be careful with magic, after all, and he would be fine, but he didn't want Sven getting hurt. He thought he ought to call out though, to try and help, but before he could draw the breath the girl was running into the woods.

"Wow," he breathed, watching the glittering trail of ice follow her. Then he realized that where she went, the magic followed, and his excitement was renewed.

"Follow the ice, Sven!" he said, tugging the reindeer to the right. This was his story to tell, and he was going to see it through to the end.

—

It only took a moment for King Josef feel the missing weight behind him, to call out to his wife and rein his horse. But a moment was too long, and when he looked back it was in time to see Elsa run into the woods.

"Elsa!" he yelled, already turning.

"No, no, here," Frida said, handing him Anna. "You go ahead, and I'll get Elsa. There's no time."

For a second his face was stricken. But he took Anna, and clasped Frida's hand before she could withdraw it. "Be careful," he pleaded.

Her own expression was drawn, her mouth thin. She nodded and said, "Hurry."

She didn't watch him go, focusing instead on the angled path of ice that led to Elsa. For the first time she thanked God for Elsa's ice and snow, and her lack of control. Both her daughters were hurting, and she could do nothing for her youngest, but the ice would lead her to Elsa. And she would make it right, just as Josef would make it right for Anna.

God, they had to.

—

Elsa, was running, running. She wanted to leave it all behind, to outrun her snow and her fear and her guilt. She didn't hurt anymore. Everything was numb, numb and cold, she thought, although she had never really been cold in her life. Harder and harder she pushed, but it was no good. The faster she ran, the faster the snow fell, the faster the wind whipped against her back. _Go away, go away go away go away!_ The snow fell so heavily that she couldn't see the forest or the ground, couldn't see anything at all, and the wind pushed her ever onward, roaring in her ears and in her head. Faster and faster, until she couldn't feel the brush that scratched at her, or the branches that caught her hair, or even the ground beneath her feet. _I have to go away_.

—

For a few minutes Kristoff thought he would catch up to the girl, that he could stop her and ask her how to make the ice. None of the other harvesters knew anything like that! If they did, they wouldn't have to go all the way up into the mountains, that's for sure.

But the wind was starting to blow really hard behind them, and although it pushed them forward, it seemed to be pushing her even more. She was getting away, or maybe just getting hidden by all the snow; either way he was losing sight of her.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Hey! Where are you going? Hey, come ba—" His words died in his throat as the girl suddenly lifted up, raising towards the treetops, before falling again.

Sven stopped suddenly, and it was only by clutching desperately at his ears and snout that Kristoff managed to avoid being pitched off. As it was he ended up doubled over Sven's head, staring at the forest floor. "Sven! What...oh." The ice stopped. They were standing where the girl had flown into the air, and snow dusted some nearby tree branches, but the ground was clear.

Kristoff righted himself and looked around. In front of them, where the girl had come down again—frost and snow, just like before. "Over there, boy! Come on!"

—

"Elsa?"

They had left the castle without torch or lantern, and while the open road had been vividly visible by the light of the aurora, the shadows beneath the trees were a dark and impenetrable. Frida kept one eye on the icy trail, and with the other scanned the forest. "Elsa? Darling, it's going to be all right." There was a strange, cold wind blowing tonight, and she didn't want to think about its source.

It was dark, much too dark, and Frida had a sudden vision of Elsa against the snow, her pale skin and hair blending in so naturally that she couldn't be seen until it was too late. Until she was trampled underfoot.

No. No. Panic would not find Elsa. Frida breathed in, deeply. The breath shuddered and caught in her throat, but it would have to do. Just follow the ice.

"Elsa," she tried again, "don't be frightened. Come here, we'll find Papa and Anna." She nudged her horse forward, and snow crunched under its hooves. Until it didn't.

The frost had stopped. Elsa wasn't there, and the frost had stopped. Fear gripped her then, working its way, cold and sharp, into her heart. "Elsa! _Elsa_!"

There. Up ahead, the snow began again. Forgetting care, forgetting decorum, she urged her horse into a gallop. "_Elsa_!"

—

Kristoff could see her, almost; could see the ice storm surrounding her, at least, which was kind of the same thing. The wind was blowing so strongly that Sven could barely keep his balance, and Kristoff was beginning to think this wasn't such a grand adventure after all. That maybe ice should just stay out on the mountain lakes where it belonged. Magic hadn't seemed quite so frightening when it was trapped in a story told 'round a campfire.

He didn't have time to decide whether or not to keep going. The wind made that decision for him, sweeping the girl up once again. This time he could feel it lift, from his feet to his back to ruffling his hair last of all. This time, she didn't come down. Her foot—or so he thought—caught a treetop as she went, covering it with a thick layer of snow. Then she was gone, beyond the trees he could see, and he and Sven slowed to a stop. His ears and cheeks tingled, and he could still hear a roaring in his ears even though the air was suddenly completely still.

A roar, or a pounding? From behind them something was coming, and coming quickly. Sven brayed and begin to stomp nervously, and Kristoff suddenly realized that maybe he should be afraid.

—

Elsa wasn't afraid anymore. She wasn't sad, or worried, or in pain. Her fingertips tingled pleasantly, snow brushing so thick across them that all she could see was white. She was surrounded by cold, and ice, and wind, and it was _right_. Maybe the whole world was only this, the wind surrounding her, and the snow around her and inside her too.

_Anna_?

She could go, on and on, like this always. She knew she could. Could feel it in the palms of her hands, the balls of her feet, deep in her chest.

_Anna, are you okay_?

There was the wind, and the sky, and Elsa. She flew.

—

There! A small figure moving on the snow. Frida was off her horse and rushing forward before she saw that it was a small boy on a reindeer, looking as surprised to see her as she was to see him. She paused, tamping down on the words of relief desperate to spill from her mouth, and approached him.

"Please," she said, because he looked ready to flee, "have you seen a girl? My daughter. Has she come this way?"

He nodded, and pointed towards the northern sky. "She flew away."

Nothing in all the strangeness of this night could have prepared her for that. She was about to come undone, faint with fear and worry, and this child was playing games. "What, what did you say? Where did she go?"

He furrowed his brow, and hesitated. She wanted to scream, to shake him and demand he tell her where Elsa was. Instead, she listened as he said, "She was running really fast. And the wind was blowing really hard. And then she went...up." He lifted a hand in demonstration. "The wind carried her away." Frida gritted her teeth and prepared to lash out when he said, "See?" and pointed a tree, covered in snow, but only at the very top. "She hit that when she went."

_Like a blizzard, carried on the north wind_. Her protestations died before she could form them. She knew then it was perfectly, impossibly true.

_"Elsa!"_

—

Josef picked his way along the road carefully, trying not to jostle Anna. The trolls had helped him, as he knew they would. Her mind was clear from magic. He would have to tell Frida and Elsa. Explain to them the new rules that must be enforced as soon as they got home. For the good of everyone.

The old troll had given him a warning with the healing. _She will struggle greatly until she learns control. You must help her_. And he would; he would do what had to be done to protect his daughters. Already plans and proclamations were swirling in his head.

Anna made a sleepy, contented sound, and his heart melted. They had had a close call tonight, but all would be well. He would make it so.

Frida and Elsa didn't meet them in the trolls' hollow, nor on the road leading to it. Worry niggled at the back of his mind, mixed with guilt. He should have been holding Elsa in front of him, where he could keep her safe. He would make it up to her; take her home, comfort her, teach her the right way to handle her powers. Surely Frida had caught up to her, and was soothing her even now. Surely.

He pushed his horse into a cantor as they reached the site where the trail of snow lead into the woods.

"Frida? Elsa?" he called. Anna was beginning to stir in his arms, but there was no helping it. She clutched at him, her hands brushing the wet patches were ice had formed and melted.

"Papa?"

—

Anna was sleepy, so sleepy. Wasn't it night time? Why was she with Papa on a horse? Why were her slippers wet and her toes cold?

Papa was yelling now, calling for Mama and Elsa. Were they here? Anna rubbed her eyes and looked around. There was a forest, and there was the sky, and there was another horse, idly wandering around. She didn't see Mama, or Elsa, or anyone.

There was a burst of noise, and Anna woke up fully, crying out; but it was only Mama, running from the forest and clutching at Papa's leg.

"Josef," she gasped, "Josef, I can't find her. The ice stops and she's not there and I can't find her. This boy," she motioned, "he said the wind carried her away."

"What?"

"The wind, like it carries a snowflake, or carries a storm—Josef, the wind took her."

Papa climbed off the horse and set Anna on the ground. There was snow, and instantly her already damp slippers were frozen through. She shivered. "Anna, listen to me," he said, "you must not move from this spot. Do you understand? Don't you move for anything."

"Why?" Anna called, but he was already running off with Mama, and they were both yelling for Elsa. "Papa! Mama!" Tears pricked at her eyes, rolled down her cheeks, and melted small holes in the snow beneath her. "Elsa?" she tried, but the only thing that greeted her were Mama and Papa's cries of the same.

"Hey," someone said, and she cried out again. It was a little boy, walking with his hand on a baby reindeer. He shuffled on his feet. "Are you okay?"

"No," she sobbed.

He looked at the reindeer, then looked back. "Um, do you know who Elsa is?"

"She's my sister," she sniffled. "Do you know where she is?"

The boy looked at the sky for a long moment, then at the snow on the ground, and said, "No."

Anna crouched, then gave up completely and let her legs give out, dropping her onto the snow. She keened.

There was a snuffling near her ear, a slightly wet touch on her bare arm. It was the baby reindeer, come close to see. The reindeer was soft and warm; it reminded Anna of her stuffed bear, and that was all the prompting she needed to throw her arms around its neck.

—

Kristoff edged closer to Sven and the little girl. He could barely hear her parents still yelling in the distance, and it was making him nervous. Or maybe sad. He was quite ready to find his sled and go home and curl up on his little cot in the corner of the ice master's den and try to figure out magic from a safe, warm place. That would be best.

But the girl, who he thought was called Anna, was clinging to Sven, so maybe...he should stay?

He didn't want to be alone, at any rate, so he went and sat on the other side of Sven from Anna. She didn't seem to notice, not even when he started scratching Sven's ears.

He was wearing thick leather trousers and a warm tunic and gloves besides, but she was in a thin little nightgown and was trembling. _Don't you have a coat?_ he wanted to say, or _You shouldn't sit in the snow,_ or _I'd give you a coat if I had one,_ or _My family got lost once too_.

There was a trampling in the underbrush that was growing louder. Her mother stepped out from behind the trees and cried, "Anna!"

"Mama!" Anna leapt to her feet and threw herself into her mother's arms. Her mother scooped her up and ran a hand up and down her back, making shushing noises.

Anna's father appeared behind her. However, he only spared a look and a brief touch to his daughter's cheek, and then he walked over to Kristoff. Kristoff had never seen anyone look quite so solemn without looking angry too. It made him nervous, and he scrambled to his feet. Sven stood as well and stayed by his side, which make him feel a little better.

The man knelt in front of him. "What's your name?" he asked."Kristoff. A-and this is Sven."

The man rubbed at his chin, even though there was no beard there. "Kristoff, did you see what happened to my daughter?"

"The, the other one?" Kristoff asked. "She, um…" He held his hand front of his chest, then moved it up and across to simulate the flight the girl had taken.

"Was carried away by the wind," the man filled in.

"Right." Said like that, in the man's serious voice and with his serious face, it sounded silly. But it was true. Did he think Kristoff was lying?

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

"I don't have any." Kristoff threw his arm around Sven's back. "It's just me and Sven. Oh, we have a job though! We harvest the ice." Maybe the man would believe him if he knew how hard they worked. That they were useful.

The man was quiet for a moment, and then he stood. "Frida. Take Anna back to the castle. Send the royal guard. I'll stay to guide them." Then he gestured to Kristoff. "Take this boy too; make sure he has a meal and bed. He may be able to tell us something that will help."

Castle? Royal guard? Kristoff and Sven looked at each other. He realized then that the man's clothes, while not especially warm, were very fine, and the horses, too, were much nicer kept than any he saw in the city square.

Anna and her mother were mounting one of the horses. Her father picked Kristoff up and set him on the back of the same horse. "Hold on tightly," he said harshly, and Kristoff squeezed as hard as he dared.

"Sven!" he called as they began to gallop away, keeping his voice as low as possible, feeling any volume would get him in trouble. "Come on, boy!" Sven bleated and raced alongside them.

"Mama," Anna was saying, "where's Elsa?"

"We are going to find her," her mother said, her voice rough and thin. Kristoff looked back to where he could see a single snow covered tree disappearing. He thought of darkness and magic and people who got lost in the woods and the cold north winds.

Somehow, he didn't think they would find her in the forest.

* * *

Elsa woke to a light tingle moving up her calf, like an insect crawling. She tried to kick her leg, but her muscles were stiff and unresponsive. In fact, her entire body was sore, and the bed beneath her was damp and rock hard. _This isn't right at all_, she thought, and opened her eyes.

There was a girl, with dark skin and dark eyes and wild hair, leaning over her. She had in her hand a knife that was just barely pressed to Elsa's leg. "Oh!" the girl said. "You're alive!"

Elsa shrieked and tried to scramble away, but her hands were slipping on ice and she was too stiff to move quickly. The girl sheathed her knife at her belt and rocked back on her heels. "I thought you were dead. You ought to be, anyway. You fell asleep on the worst snow around, you know. And you don't even have a coat! Are you stupid?"

"What?" Elsa panted. There was at least some distance between them now, and she chanced a look around.

Directly beneath her was thick snow. Her nightgown was dirty and torn, and her stocking were ripped to pieces. All around the ground was covered in a light frost, and towering above her were dark and gnarled trees she didn't recognize. Panic started rising in her throat.

She looked back down and saw that the girl had snuck closer, was right on top of her. She skittered quickly backwards, fresh snow blooming under her hands when she reached the edge of the ring she had been laying in.

"Oh," the girl breathed, watching her intently. She stood, and Elsa quickly followed suit, folding her hands against her stomach.

"Please," she said, keeping her eye on the knife. "Where am I?"

The girl furrowed her brow and looked around them. "...The forest?"

The forest. She had run into the forest. Guilt dropped like a stone in her gut, actually forcing the panic back slightly. "Please," she said again, "I need to go back to the castle. Do you know how to get there?"The girl immediately perked up. "Of course I do! Come on!" She grabbed Elsa's hand, but Elsa quickly pulled it away. Undeterred, she took Elsa's sleeve instead, and pulled her roughly forward.

They walked for some time, winding deeper into the forest. Elsa was getting scared again. "Are you sure this is the right way?"

"Of course I am. It's right up here. Look." They turned the corner, and Elsa saw—well, it was _technically_ a castle, maybe, or at least a well fortified manor house. But it was dark and crumbling, the court yard overgrown, with fierce looking dogs roaming around.

"What is this?" Elsa asked.

"It's the castle. I live there!" the girl chirped.

"No, this isn't where I wanted to go," Elsa pulled away, and dodged when the girl grabbed at her again. "I, I meant where the king and queen live."

The girl made a face. "We haven't got a king and queen around here, and this is the only castle. You really don't know very much, do you? Come on, my mama's inside." She started towards the steps. Elsa stood paralyzed. Then one of the dogs barked, and she raced forward, clutching the girl's shirt.

Where in the world _was_ she?

"Mama!" the girl bellowed once they were in the doors. She was suddenly off running, and Elsa scrambled to keep up. They ended up in a kitchen, where a large woman with a craggy face was rocking near the fire and smoking a pipe.

"—going on about...oh!" she cried she saw Elsa. "What in the world is this? What have you done now?"

"I found an ice fairy!" the girl crowed. "See?" She grabbed Elsa's wrist and touched her hand to the table leg. Instantly frost enveloped it. "I'm keeping her."

"Stop that!" Elsa cried, jerking her hand back. The girl was smiling, and the woman had dropped her pipe, and Elsa just wanted to hide.

"What in Heaven's good name is this?" the woman asked, scratching at the frost. Shame, greater almost than the fear, overtook her, and she began to cry.

"I can't make it stop," she whimpered.

"Oh dear, oh dear." The woman scooped her up and held her tight to her chest. "There now, dear, don't you worry about a bit of ice. There's a fire right here to melt it." She ran a soothing hand down Elsa's back, hummed a lullaby in her ear, and Elsa just fell apart. She was so tired, so confused, so hurt and frightened. She sobbed and squeezed and cried and clutched until she was weak and trembling. "Just let it out, that's right, dear."

She did for a good, long time.

—

When Elsa had finally calmed down, her sobs reduced to sniffles and hiccups, the woman set her back on the ground. "There, now," she said, patting Elsa's hip. "There's a girl. I've got chores to do, and I need to think about all this besides, so you two go play, hm?"

"Yes! Come see, come see what I've got!" The girl grabbed Elsa's hand again and dragged her deeper into the crumbling castle. Elsa's legs were still trembling and untrustworthy, but the girl forced her forward. Every once in a while she would stop and point out some scratch or dent she had apparently made, or would take Elsa to see some animals she had caught and now kept locked up, including an entire flock of pigeons, some rabbits, and a particularly angry badger.

Through it all the girl kept Elsa close. Every time she tried to wiggle away the girl would just grab her again, winding an arm around her neck or her waist or her elbow, or plucking at her sleeves and skirt and hair. It made it difficult to see, and more difficult to walk.

She noticed, however, scattered piles of the most random collection of items she had ever seen. Large nets that looked like they had been ripped from fishing boats, a full summer wardrobe that looked like it belong to a rich, thin woman, two bicycles (one missing the front wheel, and the other its handlebars), a frame with scraps of a painting still clinging to the edges, carriage wheels with no carriage, and an enormous brass globe.

"Where did you get all of this?" she asked.

"From people that come through the forest."

"They give it to you?"

"Well, not without a fight, usually."

Elsa stopped suddenly, and the girl, who had entwined their arms, came up short as well. "What do you mean? Did you...did you steal it?"

"Yes!" the girl said brightly. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Well, that's—that's terrible! You shouldn't steal things!"

"Why not?"

"You'll…" _get in trouble_, Elsa wanted to say, but that felt silly, here, somehow. "It's not right. You should work and earn money and pay for things."

The girl made a face and stuck out her tongue. "Do you work and pay for things?"

"N-no—"

"Then what do you know anyway?" Apparently bored, she dragged Elsa into a corner that was covered in furs and blankets and pushed her down. "This is where I sleep. You'll stay here with me." She crouched to look at Elsa's face, and sighed. "Come on, don't look like that. We haven't got any other way to get things except taking them. Here, wait here and I'll show you something nice." And she darted off again.

Elsa hugged her legs to her chest. This wasn't, as far as she could tell, any kind of bedroom at all. There was no bed, and no cupboard. No door to close them in and keep them safe, and no toys she could see, unless the large hunting knife and handlebars at her feet counted as toys.

It certainly wasn't anything like her and Anna's room in Arendelle.

The girl returned, carrying a brown hare that she dropped on Elsa's lap. The frightened animal immediately tried to flee, but the girl shoved her hand in front of it, and it shrunk back against Elsa and trembled.

"Oh no!" Elsa cried. "Poor little thing." She gave it her fingers to sniff, and gently scratched it on the head.

"He was a very fast one, but I caught him all the same," the girl said proudly. "Now, tell me your name. Or don't fairies have names?"

"I'm not a fairy," Elsa said, carefully stroking the hare's back. "I'm a princess."

The girl immediately beamed and leaned forward. "Are you really?! Mama and the men will be glad to know that! Are all princesses magic?"

Elsa shook her head, and the girl's face fell. "Um, what do you mean, they'll be glad?"

"Princesses are rich, aren't they? If you're rich, they can kidnap and ransom you, and get lots of money."

"What?!" Elsa clutched her hands to her chest. She heard, distantly, a crack of ice. The hare, seeing his opportunity, bolted, and the girl cried out and ran after him.

That wasn't real, was it? Mama and Papa had told her stories of people that would hurt her, had told her to avoid strangers and to not wander off. Only she had wandered off, she realized, and here were the people who would hurt her. Fear rushed in to squeeze out her confusion and her sadness, and around her ice raced up the walls.

"What'd you do that for?" the girl ask as she returned. "Now I'll have to catch him again, or another one." Then she saw the ice and bounced with delight.

"What did you mean?" Elsa demanded again, hoping, desperately, that she was wrong. "They wouldn't...would they really kidnap me?"

"Well…" The girl screwed her face in concentration, then gave up and flopped down against the furs. "No, I guess not. They wouldn't have to, since you're already here."

She quaked. But… "If they ransomed me, would that mean they'd send me home?"

The girl looked at her as though she were stupid. "Why would they ever do that? They couldn't get anymore money that way."

Elsa felt hot tears spilling again, and quite unwillingly let out a sob.

"Oh," the girl said, "oh no, don't cry." She sat up and shuffled forward, wiping Elsa's damp cheeks with the bottom of her sleeves. "You're mine now and I'm going to take care of you. I don't care if you're a fairy or a princess or nothing at all." Snow was falling around them, and she cupped Elsa's face, forcing her to look up. "Look, that's what we'll tell them, that you're nothing at all, and they'll leave us alone. I'll hurt them if they don't. It'll be a secret, that's all."

"I want to go home," she wailed.

"Alright." The girl laced her fingers behind Elsa's neck. "I don't know anyplace except the forest, but when the men come in we'll ask them how to get to your home, okay? Don't cry, I don't like it when you cry."

A secret. They were only interested in her if she were a princess, so she wouldn't be a princess. And the girl was looking at her with such fierce determination that Elsa believed, at least a little, that she could protect her after all. Elsa hiccuped, and finally nodded.

"Good, see? Now tell me, what's your name?"

She gently pried away the girls hands so she could wipe at her own face. "It's Elsa."

The girl grinned, and scuttled backwards a bit. "I'm Jonne! Now you ask me a question." She leaned forward to listen intently, crossing her legs and grabbing her ankles.

"Um." Elsa glanced around at the crumbling walls. "How long have you lived here?"

"Not all my life, but as long as I can remember." Jonne jiggled her legs as she thought. "Do you know any other princesses?"

"Just my sister," Elsa said, and felt a pang of loneliness. Jonne looked at her expectantly, and she considered for a moment. "How old are you?" she asked.

To her surprise, Jonne looked momentarily confused, and then her expression closed. "Well...how old are you?"

Elsa blinked. "I asked you first." When Jonne just pursed her lips, she said, "I thought that was how the game worked."

"Alright. Well. I'm three months older than you."

Elsa stared at Jonne. Jonne stared back. "You don't even know how old I am," she pointed out.

"How old are you?"

"I'm eight."

"Right, and I'm three months older."

"But you don't know when my birthday is!"

"So? What's that matter?"

Elsa let out an unwilling, disbelieving laugh. Then she had an idea, and fought down a smile. "My birthday's in December," she said.

Jonne nodded firmly. "Right, and mine is three months before that."

"In September?"

"Yes."

"Ha!" Elsa clapped her hands in triumph. "I was fibbing, my birthday's in July!"

Jonne huffed and crossed her arms. "Then mine's three months before that! In…"

Elsa quickly counted back. "April?"

"Right."

"You're lying!" Jonne did her best to look offended, but by now Elsa could see the smile she was trying to hide. "You are, you're making it up!"

"So were you!"

"I told the truth the last time."

"Well maybe I did too."

Elsa scoffed. "I don't believe you."

Jonne tipped her head back, and when she looked at Elsa again she was laughing. She leapt to her feet, and pulled Elsa up with her. "That's enough of that! The men will be home soon. You're a mess; here, you can have some of my clothes. But not the nice ones."

—

"The men" were, to a one, loud and rambunctious. Some of them were the largest men Elsa had ever seen outside of the royal guards that patrolled the palace; others were barely more than boys. Jonne danced excitedly at the edge of the room, and when they were all in and settled she grabbed Elsa and pulled her into the dining hall.

"Look!" she crowed. "Look what I've found! She's not a fairy, but she can do magic!" Elsa grabbed at her arm, suddenly frightened. No one was supposed to know about that!

"Here's, what this?" said the man nearest them, who had a crooked nose and exceedingly broad shoulders. "What a pretty little thing! Have you been playing games with her, Jonne? What imagination!"

"It's true!" Jonne insisted. "She can make ice and snow!"

"Ssh, ssh!" Elsa hissed desperately.

"Ah, it's nice that you have a playmate, but wherever did you find her?"

"Is anyone going to come looking for her?" asked another man, this one with a deep scowl and a crooked scar on his cheek.

"In the forest," Jonne said sullenly. "Making _snow_."

The first man opened his mouth again, but before he could speak another voice came from near the first pit. "It's true, Sabbe," Jonne's mother said. "I saw it earlier. The girl is magic."

"What's this, Meartá?" the man asked, but by then a hush had settled over the room, and everyone was watching them. Elsa shrunk back, trying to hide behind Jonne. She suddenly thought maybe she didn't want the help of men like this after all.

"Come on," Jonne said, "come on, show them!"

"No," Elsa cried softly, turning to run away.

Jonne grabbed her arm and shook it. "You did it earlier, I saw, come on!"

"No!" Elsa wrenched her arm away, the momentum sending her stumbling backwards. There was a sudden roar of noise from the assembled crowd, and she looked down to see a jagged circle of ice radiating out from beneath her foot.

"Oh," she whimpered, "oh no, oh no."

"Yeah!" Jonne cried, leaping with excitement. "You see, I told you!" The men, meanwhile, exploded.

"In all my years—!"

"Is she cursed?! Isn't it a curse?"

"We ought to take her back, Lord God Almighty—"

"She can't stay here, put her out!"

"You'll not touch any child in this castle!" Meartá bellowed, drawing herself up. "Listen to you! Like a bunch of frightened children. It's a sad state when little Jonne has more sense than the lot of you." Some of the men looked deeply offended at that.

"What should we do then?" asked one of the youngest of them, who was almost a child himself. "She's a witch, ain't she?"

"That's right, a little witch," Sabbe said gently. "Come here, little witch. Let's see, yeah?" He beckoned Elsa, but she shrunk away, and he dropped his hands. "Don't listen to these fools. Most of them have never seen anything grand or wonderful at all. Now come, tell us, where are you from? Where's your family?"

At this question Elsa remembered why she had come, and the plan she had come up with. She tried very hard to settle her breathing, and said, "My parents are dead."

Jonne whipped her head around, her face wild with surprised glee. Elsa silently pleaded with her to keep quiet and not ruin anything. "They died a little while ago, and I was trying to get to Arendelle. To find my family there."

"Arendelle?" one of the men asked. "I've never heard of that place. How far do you have to go?"

Elsa's heart sank. "I...I don't know."

"Do _you_ know where it is?" Jonne asked Sabbe, shoving him hard in the side. He pondered for a minute and then shook his head.

"I can't say I've ever heard of it. Sorry, little witch."

"Arundel?" someone else asked, and Elsa's eyes snapped to him. The other men shook their heads, but he pressed forward. "Arundel Mills? That's a little village to the east, isn't it? They make wonderful crispbread there, I remember."

Elsa wilted, and she shook her head.

"Hey," the man with the scar was saying, "do you think her parents are really dead?" Elsa and Jonne exchanged a nervous glance. "Or did they turn her out because of her magic?"

"They wouldn't do that!" Elsa blurted, and the man sneered.

"Hush yourself, Rikkar," Sabbe said. He reached for Elsa's hands again, and this time she let him take them. "So you're trying to go to Arendelle? To find some distant family, to take you in?"

Elsa nodded, and hoped he wouldn't ask her much more. She hadn't thought anymore of the story out.

"Do you think they would take you, if you showed up on their doorstep?'

She hunched her shoulders. "I don't understand."

"I only mean that most people are only as decent as they have to be. And most people don't want another mouth to feed. It'd be a shame to go all that way and find out you don't have a place after all."

Anger welled up in Elsa, and she tugged her hands away again. "They wouldn't turn me away! They'd take care of me!" She had a home, and a family. A better place than this.

Or...she _had_ a family. She suddenly remembered little Anna, still and cold. Did she ever wake up? Did they manage to warm her? Could she go back if the answer was no?

Sabbe was raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no offense. I was only telling the truth."

"Please," Elsa said, her voice and legs shaking. "I have to go to Arendelle." She felt Jonne's hand wrap around her elbow, and when she looked over the other girl was smiling, but her eyes were worried.

Sabbe scratched his chin, and looked around at the other men, all of whom were shrugging or ignoring him. "I've never heard of such a place, but I'll keep my ears open. Maybe something will turn up. How's that?"

Elsa nodded weakly and staggered backwards, utterly drained. She wanted nothing more than to lay down and cry, maybe forever.

"Hey." It was the boy, the one who had called her a witch. "What you did with the ice—can you do other things?"

She didn't want to do anything else at all, not even talk, but now Jonne was looking at her expectantly too. So she said, "I can do lots of things. I can make it snow." She could do so much more than that, but snow was enough. Snow was safe.

A wide smile flitted across his face before he forced it down. "That's—that's real—could you show me?"

"Dinner first," Meartá said, appearing next to the girls and pushing them both towards the table. "Niikko, fetch some stew. You can play later."

Elsa wanted to insist she wasn't hungry, but as soon as the bowl appeared in front of her she realized she was, in fact, starving to death. Jonne watched her eat intently.

"See, Sabbe will help," she whispered, which was not in fact very quiet. "That was a good lie! You're smarter than I thought. Of course, I thought you were very dumb."

"Ssh!" Elsa hissed again.

"And of course, you don't have to go," Jonne continued, ignoring her. "You can stay here as long as you like. Hey." She nudged Elsa, and grinned. "Will you really make it snow?"

—

Niikko and Jonne were staring at her. A few of the other men had followed them outside as well, but most of them stayed in the castle, crowding the doors and windows. Elsa took a deep breath, and began to twirl her hands.

Blue sparks quickly began to gather, forming the base of a ball that wasn't snow, not really, but was the _potential_ for snow. Everyone near her was slack jawed. Everyone inside was murmuring. Elsa straightened her shoulders, feeling as though she were putting on a show. Feeling almost proud.

The ball of soon-to-be-snow streaked upwards and exploded in a burst of light and ice. Niikko tilted his head too far back and fell over. Jonne shrieked and began to jump around. Someone somewhere was laughing disbelievingly, and then someone else too, and then almost everyone.

Elsa looked around, smiling. All around large, frightening looking men were catching snow on their fingers and watching it with wonder, as if they had never seen a winter storm before. Jonne ran amongst them screaming, and Elsa—Elsa was laughing. It was so, so different from playing alone with Anna.

Then she looked to the castle. Some of the men in there, too, looked amazed and excited. Others though—like the man with the scar—looked angry or frightened. Her smile quickly faded.

"Elsa! Elsa, Elsa, Elsa!" Jonne tackled her in a hug and spun her around. "You're amazing! You have to do this all the time!"

All the time? No, she wanted to say, she can't. Her powers were a secret and lonely thing, meant only for quiet moments with herself or Anna. Her parents had made that perfectly clear. It had to be a secret. It was for the best.

But it wasn't a secret now, was it? Elsa looked around again. There were at least a dozen men outside now, playing in her snow. And it was alright, wasn't it? As long as she was careful, it was alright.

Overwhelmed with emotion, she threw her arms around Jonne. For a second Jonne staggered, but then she squeezed back even harder. Elsa laughed again as the snow fell around them.

—

That night she curled up next to Jonne on the furs and told her about Arendelle and Anna and the magic she hadn't meant to cast and the wind that had seemed like a dream, but had somehow brought her here.

"You might have gone a very long way after all, then," Jonne said.

"Yeah." Elsa pulled the blankets tighter and squeezed into a ball.

"I wonder where your parents were going. Who undoes magic?"

"I don't know." _I hope it worked_, she wanted to say. Or, _I hope Anna's okay. I hope it wasn't too late_. But the words got caught in her throat. Hoping had done her so little good so far that she was almost scared that saying them out loud would make the opposite come true.

"I bet your sister's fine," Jonne said suddenly, and Elsa started. She propped herself up on an elbow.

"Why do you think that?"

Jonne seemed to seriously consider for a minute. "Because I'm very lucky, and I say she is, so she has to be."

Elsa flopped back down. "That's not how it works."

"Sure it is."

"You're very lucky?"

"I must be." Jonne looked at her. "I found you. How many people find magic? I must be incredibly lucky."

Elsa wanted to believe it. So, at least for tonight, she did. "Thank you," she said.

"You're very lucky too," Jonne pointed out, "so that helps."

"How am I lucky?"

"You found me."

Elsa snorted, and shoved at her. "You're more silly than lucky."

"That works too." Jonne rolled over and threw her arm around Elsa's neck. "Good night." And within seconds she was snoring.

Elsa stayed awake for a very long time. The furs weren't as comfortable as her mattress at home, and Jonne was incredibly loud, and the castle was drafty, and somewhere some of the men were still yelling and singing. It wasn't anything like home. But just for tonight, it was alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Three years apart**

* * *

In Arendelle, Elsa used to spend most of her days in lessons. She would learn about etiquette, or language, or horseback riding, or mathematics. There had always been time for play, of course, plenty of time. But she hadn't even noticed how structured her days had been until the structure was gone.

There was no structure in the robbers' den. The only thing consistent was that at the end of the day she and Jonne would fall asleep together on the furs. Play time was all the time. Jonne seemed exempt from any chores, and meals were whenever they got hungry and stole into the pantry for food. Dinner was a regular, rowdy occurrence in the evening, but Elsa didn't much like eating with the men, so they often didn't. Jonne was fiery and violent and could hold her own against even the most temperamental of the robbers, but Elsa preferred to simply avoid them. She liked few of them, and trusted even less. Some were frightened of her. She thought she was better off if they didn't know how frightened she was of them too.

So their days were spent playing and exploring. Only a small part of the crumbling castle was used for lodging. Most of the rest of it was for storage, and much of it appeared to not be used at all. She and Jonne would spend days on end scouting the empty corridors. A precariously perched tower would be used as the crow's nest of a pirate ship, or an abandoned stairwell would become an ice slide for the afternoon. Sometimes they could spend days seeing no one but Jonne's mother and each other, creeping through dusty hallways and giggling when voices passed them by without finding them.

The lack of formal lessons, of structure, didn't mean there was nothing to learn though. Sometimes Sabbe would bring home feathers and bits of string and metal, and show them how to make fishing lures. Or Guivi would bring them out into the woods and show them how to lay traps, how to check them and kill the still living game if necessary. Meartá had taught them how to skin and cook rabbits too, but that had made Elsa queasy, and she left early. Jonne was better with a knife anyway.

Once Elsa had stumbled upon Guivi showing Jonne how to use a knife in a way that didn't look like it was meant for animals, and she had crept away, unsettled. Maybe Jonne knew, because as much as she loved it, she tried to keep her knife sheathed around Elsa.

The closest thing in the castle to real lessons were the afternoons when she would collect Jonne and one of the books she had found among the piles of junk, and try to teach Jonne the letters and sounds. It was slow going. Jonne liked knowing things, but liked having to learn them rather less.

And then there was the magic. Elsa felt sometimes that something had been broken in her the night she had flown to the thieves' forest. Like a pipe knocked out of place, letting out a slow drip, drip, drip of magic she couldn't stop. On good days the flow was completely stoppered, and she could run her hands along the walls without having to worry about the ice trails she would leave behind.

Most days were not good days.

So she tried to practice, but it was difficult to teach oneself how _not_ to do something. She could make the snow dance, or summon ice in crude shapes, but she couldn't keep frost from eking out of her fingertips.

Jonne, at least, always loved her magic, even when she had slipped on Elsa's ice and cracked her head so hard that she couldn't collect herself enough to speak for a full afternoon. Or when a nightmare had made Elsa call a snowstorm that had almost buried both her and Jonne before she realized it, and Jonne had fallen into a fever for three days even though Elsa had dragged them both to Meartá's bed. Of course, once she recovered from the fall Jonne had spent days bragging about the crack her head had made on the castle floor, and during the fever spent every minute she was conscious and Elsa was near trying to blow snot at her. Jonne seemed exceedingly pleased with every bruise she collected, proud of every scar. Elsa didn't understand it, but sometimes...sometimes she appreciated it.

After the night snow, Elsa thought it might be better if she and Jonne didn't sleep together. She spent weeks creeping out of bed after Jonne had started snoring, and curling up somewhere else. But Jonne was both a lighter sleeper and much sneakier than she realized, and was wrapped around Elsa again by morning. Elsa had eventually given up.

This particular evening had been one of pretend. They were huddled under a table that had been a fort. They were hiding from bandits, Jonne said, until Elsa pointed out that didn't make any sense and she had changed it to lawmen. Which was logical, but strange in its own way. Now, however, they were simply stretched out on the blankets Jonne had fetched them, staring at the bottom of the table and chatting when the mood took them, or falling silent otherwise.

During the silence, Elsa snapped her fingers once, twice. On the crack of the second a few blue sparks darted into existence. She thinned her lips, clenched her fist, and then tried again. _Snap, snap_.

There, nothing. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply in, out. Next to her Jonne hummed and kicked at the tabletop. She was restless, always, and her elbows and knees knocked against Elsa's as she squirmed. Elsa ignored her and carefully pressed her palms against the underside of the table.

After several seconds she cautiously opened her eyes. Frost, everywhere, coating the tabletop and spreading down the legs. She sighed, her breath heavy with disappointment. Today, apparently, wasn't a good day.

Jonne kicked at the table again, rough and excited. She beamed at the flecks of ice that fell on her legs, then lifted her hand and trace in the frost above her head.

"Why did you do it like that?" Elsa asked with a giggle.

"I couldn't remember which way was right." Elsa pointed to the second, forwards facing 'N'. "Oh."

Elsa shifted her finger to the backwards 'N' and frosted it over. Jonne quickly rewrote it correctly, then reached to trac on the other side of the table. "Right?" she asked, and Elsa hummed in the affirmative. Jonne pressed both her hands beneath her name, melting the ice in perfect handprint shapes. Elsa did the same, frosting her own handprints over more heavily, so that there was a set of brown wooden prints, and a set of icy white ones.

There had been footsteps passing by the room they were in all evening, and now some approached, accompanied by loud voices. Elsa recognized Sabbe's heavy step, and the crack of Niikko's voice. She rolled to her knees, ready to leave the men to their drink and talk, but Jonne made no such movements.

Four chairs were pulled out, and four heavy men made seats in them. The table was large enough that they weren't getting kicked at yet, but Elsa wanted to move all the same.

Then Jonne grinned, and Elsa desperately shook her head even as Jonne reared back and drove both legs against the underside of the table, lifting it to two legs and causing clatters of fallen mugs and shouts. Elsa gasped and bolted, dodging the large hands now grasping at them, with Jonne following laughing.

Elsa was dismayed to see one of the men at the table was Rikkar, who snarled and drove his fist into the table. "Miserable brat! I'll tan your hide for that." Jonne made a face at him, and Elsa subtly slipped behind her.

"Calm down, you old billy goat," Sabbe said easily, mopping sour smelling beer from his vest. "I've seen you spill more yourself on the tavern floor."

"Where've you been?" Jonne demanded. "What did you get? Let me see!"

Sabbe laughed. "To the market, child, and you can see in that bag there. But I warn you, it's only vegetables and tools." Jonne gleefully dove for the bag in the corner, and Elsa hurried after her, keeping one hand clenched around the back of Jonne's shirt.

Rikkar was scratching at the underside of the table. He scowled to see his fingers covered in frost. "Look at this cursed magic. Don't tell me to calm down, Sabbe, not when she needs to be taught what's right." He flicked the ice towards Elsa; it was much too far to reach her, but she flinched at the implied threat.

"Little Jonne would tear you to pieces, I think, and Meartá would finish the job." Sabbe drained what little beer was left in his mug, then sighed happily and leaned back. He was a cheerful man, but even so few things pleased him as much as his drink. "She's not doing any harm, are you, little witch?"

Little witch. All the robbers called her that. She suspected that few of them— maybe none of them— even knew her name. The only one to call her Elsa was Jonne, sometimes Meartá, and, once upon a time, Niikko, back when he had been their occasional playmate. Then one day he had decided he ought to Grow Up, and he hadn't had a kind word for either of them since then. Even now he slouched in his chair and glared at them sulkily.

Being a witch was better than being a demon or a brat, she thought, which was what they called Jonne. But Jonne was sometimes just "Jonne," and Elsa...Elsa was always a witch. She flexed her fists in Jonne's shirt. Ice was forming, but little enough that she thought she could hold on for a while longer.

"Harm's done when it melts, isn't it? She's going to rot everything in this place to pieces," Rikkar grumbled. But he looked, at least, like he wouldn't be moving soon, so Elsa relaxed just a tiny bit.

The fourth man at the table was Iisku, a dull man who became duller when he drank. Rikkar snatched the mug from his hand, and he blinked in confusion for a few seconds before giving up. "I'm glad she's here," he said, reaching back to ruffle Jonne's hair. "This one bites a lot less now, have you noticed?" Jonne snapped at him for that, and the other men laughed when he cried out.

Of all the things Elsa had learned since arriving here, the temperament of the various robber men was probably the most important. Iisku spent most of his time in a state of confusion, sharp enough to figure out when something of interest was happening, but too dim to really grasp the situation. Niikko has been amusing three years ago, but since then had turned sharp and nasty. He was too indecisive to be any kind of real danger though; Jonne bit him rather more than other people, and he preferred to skulk by in the shadows when she was near. Rikkar was violent and frightening. His best quality was that his disdain made him ignore the children most of the time. That was fine; Elsa would much rather be below his notice than in the path of his fists.

Sabbe was the best of them, if on by virtue of the fact that, unlike most, his main vice wasn't cruelty. It was his laziness, or his love of the drink. Or maybe one vice informed the other.

Elsa had figured that out some time ago. The seasons had changed and she had learned her way around the castle, around Jonne, around the surrounding forest, but no more about the path to Arendelle. For all Sabbe had promised to help, his "help" was stymied by his complacency.

Or maybe that was unkind. Maybe he really was listening for information. But if he hadn't heard of it in his life up to now, it was probably foolish to expect that it would suddenly come up just because Elsa desperately wanted it to. That's why...

"Here, little witch," Sabbe said then, beckoning her. "Come show us something." Niikko had fetched them all another round, glasses of vodka and cups of water. Jonne was finished with the bag and now stood, curiosity bright on her face. Elsa steeled herself and walked slowly towards the table. She clenched her fists tightly and rested them carefully on the tabletop.

"Here, show us a bit of pretty magic, yeah?" Sabbe said, his voice thick with alcohol. "Show these fools what you can do." He patted her hair fondly.

"Can't do nothin' worth seein'," Niikko muttered, just to be contrary. Elsa took a cup of water from the table, rolled it slowly in her hands, and then flung the water at Niikko.

He yelped and threw himself so violently back that his chair tipped over. The water, meanwhile, froze in midair, forming a twisted fountain of ice attached to the cup.

Sabbe roared with laughter, and even Iisku giggled. "Well ain't that a pretty thing!" He took the cup from Elsa and turned it, letting the light catch on the curved surface of the ice. Jonne crowed next to her, and Elsa allowed herself a smile.

"You shouldn't encourage her, Sabbe," Rikkar growled, pushing himself away from the table and moving to walk away. "We're all cursed for that magic, you mind me, and one of these days— ARGH!" There was ice on the floor, ice Elsa hadn't realized she was making, and he slipped, falling hard to one knee with a loud crack. Elsa gasped and pushed herself away from the table, fear tightening her chest. "Damned witch!" He reached for her, large hands grasping, and she tried to scramble back, but the ice was slippery and he was just so _close_.

Then Jonne darted forward, driving her head into his gut. He grunted, breath lost, and Jonne grabbed Elsa's hand and dragged her quickly away.

They raced through the hallway, dodging the men roaming it ("Slow down!" Elsa cried, and Jonne did, but only for a half step). Jonne led her through the kitchen, up the stairs, and finally out to a mostly steady balcony before she finally dropped her hand and Elsa was allowed to stop and gasp for breath. There was a thin layer of ice covering Jonne's fingers, and she flexed them, laughing at the way it crackled and flaked.

"Did you see his face?" she said. "Did you see Niikko's face?" She cackled and bounced with glee.

"I didn't," Elsa panted, "mean to hurt him."

"You didn't," Jonne said dismissively, then puffed her chest proudly. "I did though!"

Elsa ran a trembling hand across her forehead, and carefully sat with her back against the castle wall. "I don't...I don't like that. It's better…" It was better when it was just her and Jonne, playing. When she didn't have to be quite so frightened of accidents, because Jonne always seemed to bounce back happier than ever. But she didn't know how to say that.

Jonne didn't seem to notice that she didn't finish her thought. She wandered forward and leaned entirely too far over the edge of the balcony.

Elsa breathed in and out, in and out. _Calm down, calm down. Stay calm_. Maybe if she repeated it often enough, the mantra would eventually help. The backs of her fingers were trailing the stone floor, and when she looked down there was no ice. Thank goodness.

She leaned her head back, and opened her eyes to take in the night sky. The aurora was brilliant tonight, washing out all but the brightest of stars. "The sky's awake," she murmured, half smiling at a memory.

She didn't think Jonne would hear her, but the other girl looked up as well. Then she yelled, "Hey! Sky! It's night time! Go to sleep!"

"Jonne!" Elsa laughed and reached forward to grab at Jonne's shirt. "You're going to wake the whole forest."

Jonne dropped backwards to the balcony floor, hard enough to bruise, Elsa thought. She plopped her head into Elsa's lap and sighed happily, her eyes falling closed. Elsa carefully smoothed her bangs out her face.

_The sky's awake_. It was hard to remember, sometimes, so Elsa didn't always let herself do it. But now she allowed the memories to come. _Stay calm_. Anna, waking her. Anna, playing. Anna, laughing. Anna, falling.

_Stay calm_.

She kept her hands on Jonne's face, stroking her hair and brushing her cheeks. She thought it might lessen the blow of what she had to say next.

Sabbe couldn't help her get to Arendelle. Neither could Meartá, or anyone in the castle. So Elsa had been working on a plan. Sometimes she and Jonne would go out into the forest. Sometimes they would stay there for days, eating berries and fish and finding water to drink. Jonne didn't seem to notice when Elsa guided them a little further each time, when she suggested they stay out a little longer. To Jonne it was a game. To Elsa, it was preparation.

She had been gathering a little bag of things she thought she might need. Twine and hooks, a leather pouch for water, even one of Jonne's knives that she hadn't seemed to notice was missing. She already had blankets and spare boots set aside from her and Jonne's trips into the forest. It wasn't enough, not yet, but it was a start. She thought she might need help for the rest of it. But she couldn't ask for help without explaining what she was doing.

So now she cupped her best friend's cheeks and said, "Jonne."

"Hm?"

It was hard to find the words after all. "I need to...I have to go to Arendelle."

"Right."

"I mean, I need to leave here. To find Arendelle."

At this angle she could see the slight furrow in Jonne's brow, the way her pupils darted under her eyelids. But still she kept her eyes closed. "I don't mean just right now, but…" Elsa murmured after a long, tense pause.

"You don't know the way," Jonne said, voice flat.

"I, I know. But if I stay here, I'll never figure it out. Maybe, if I leave, I will? Or-or find someone who can help me." It felt bitter to say. Like she was implying Jonne and her family weren't good enough. To be fair, she would be happy to be away from the robber men, to not have to worry if one of them would get angry enough to come after her, would catch her when she was alone.

But she would miss Jonne desperately. As much, she thought, as she missed Anna now.

She tried to find a way to say that, to try and make it right. But before she could speak Jonne suddenly pushed herself to her feet. "Okay."

"O-okay?"

Jonne wasn't looking at her. "It's late. Let's go to bed." It wasn't as late as usual, but what she could see of Jonne's face was solemn, so Elsa followed her silently.

Once under the sheets Jonne threw her limbs around Elsa and snored into her ear like every other night. So maybe…it would be okay after all?

The next morning Jonne was gone by the time she woke. That was fine. That was normal. So Elsa pulled on her dress and her boots and went to the kitchen.

Jonne wasn't in there either, but Meartá was bustling around. She laid out some fruit for Elsa's breakfast. "Have you seen Jonne?" Elsa asked, taking some blueberries.

"Oh, yes, she's just been rushing around all morning," Meartá said, putting on a kettle and taking a nip from her flask. "I don't know where that girl thinks she has to rush to, but you'll find her about soon enough."

Except Elsa didn't. She searched all their usual playing places, but Jonne was nowhere to be seen. Sometimes she thought she could hear her light steps, running down the hallway, but by the time she could look there was no one to see.

After lunch, eaten alone, Elsa wandered out into the garden. The dogs snuffed at her hands. There was a thick snow on the ground, and she sat in it, tracing pictures and trying to summon small snow buildings.

Footsteps crunched on the snow, and before she could fully look up a thick traveling pack was dropped next to her. She started. "Jonne!"

"Here," Jonne said, kicking at the pack. "Been gathering all morning."

"Gathering what?" Elsa stood, brushing snow from her clothes, and gingerly righted the lopsided bag.

"Flint. Rope. Blankets. Um, a hatchet and some fishing line. Other stuff. Food. Guivi told me what to get." Jonne kicked at the pack again, then looked Elsa in the eye. "You know. So you can leave."

"Oh," Elsa gasped, and fumblingly pawed at the bag. "Um, thank you. But— "

"Sure." Jonne spun on her heel and walked back into the castle. Elsa's words died in her throat.

Was that it? Was that all there was to say? Could she go back in to say goodbye? Or did the pack at her feet say, "Leave?"

Tears pricked at her eyes. She was already lonelier than she had even been.

There was grunt from the doorway to the castle, and then Jonne walked back out, another knapsack on her own shoulders. "Well, come on," she said, "or can't you get it on? Oh, put on your jacket first— I know you don't need it, but you look funny without it in this weather."

"What?" Elsa asked dully, wiping at her eyes.

"I can't let you go alone," Jonne said matter-of-factly. "You're terrible with a knife, you know." Elsa trembled, and Jonne grinned. "Come on now, don't you get it? You've already shown me you're very clever, so don't act like you can pretend you're stupid again."

Elsa let out a half-sob, half-laugh, and threw her arms around Jonne's neck. Jonne laughed and rubbed their cheeks together, but kept her own hands on the bag's straps. "Calm down. I put your jacket in the top, so get it out."

Elsa nodded, and set about opening her pack. There, under the jacket, was the little bag she had been packing. Jonne had found it after all. Elsa glanced at her with a tentative smile. Jonne bounced impatiently, and then Meartá appeared behind her.

"Sakes, child, you'll not run off without telling me!" she scolded. Jonne sighed.

"I kissed you this morning!"

"Well you'll do it again," Meartá said, and grabbed Jonne's nose when she tried to duck. She peppered Jonne's face with kisses while she spit and fought. Finally she knocked her mother's hands away, and then grabbed her ears and pressed her own kisses, and a few bites, to Meartá's cheeks.

Elsa giggled. Meartá pushed Jonne away, and then opened her arms to Elsa. "My girl," she said as Elsa sunk into them. "My little magic one. You take care of yourself and hurry yourself home, now."

"Yes," Elsa said as Meartá pressed a kiss to her cheek. It was wet and scratchy from her whiskers, and Elsa smiled.

"Now then, I got you both some food for travelling."

"I can hunt!" Jonne cried.

"I know, dear. But this'll keep," she handed Jonne a leather pouch, "and this won't." She gave Elsa the other bag.

"Yeah, yeah." Elsa was halfway to putting her pack on, and Jonne impatiently shoved it into place. "Come on, let's gooooo!" She linked arms with Elsa and pulled her forward.

"Take care!" Meartá called. "Come back once you've delivered her safe and sound!"

Jonne raised a hand in a wave, but didn't turn around. Elsa did, and waved as well. Meartá and the crumbling castle were fading behind them. Then they turned a corner, and both disappeared behind a wall of stone and trees.

When she looked forward Jonne was beaming at her. Elsa grinned as well, feeling lighter and freer than she had in years.

On, then, to Arendelle!

* * *

Sven snuffled around their little room in the royal stables, occasionally scooping up a mouthful of hay but mostly just searching. Kristoff had learned he couldn't keep carrots around if he wanted them to last at all, but it was fun to watch him look.

When he had first been brought to the palace, they had tried to give him a proper room in the servants' quarters. And it's not that he minded being separated from Sven, exactly, but he just didn't like being quite so _far_ away. At the ice house the stables had been right next to the building itself, but the palace was big, and he had to walk a ways to get from the quarters to the stables. So he had ended up sneaking down here every night to see Sven, and finally the head groom had cleared them out a little room usually reserved for a stable hand and let them both sleep there. Kristoff had never had his own room before, and he liked it a lot.

Sven finally gave up the search and bleated. Kristoff laughed. "Not yet! You eat too much, you know that?" He thought Sven shot him an offended look.

There was a knock on his door— a rhythm that was by now very familiar. He grinned. Anna was done with her lessons!

"Kristoff, it snowed!" she called. "Come on, let's play!" She wasn't coming in herself for some reason, so he trotted over to the door and opened it. And was immediately greeted with a snowball in the face.

"Bleh!" he cried, batting at the ice on his face. Anna laughed, and Sven pushed past him. "That's playing dirty," he said.

"So?" she drawled. "Whatcha gonna do about it?" He sneered at her, then rushed forward. She squealed in delight and took off. He wasn't fast enough to catch her, but he was able to scoop up a snowball of his own while she was distracted, and the fight began in earnest after that.

After _that night_, it had only taken about a day for Kristoff to realize who the family in the woods had been. It was nearly two weeks, however, before he saw any of them again. Specifically, he saw Princess Anna, who had been so scared and cold, wandering around the garden under close supervision from her nanny. Sven had seen her first, actually, and had rushed over to greet her.

Kristoff hadn't known then if she remembered either of them, but she had giggled, albeit a bit shakily, and hugged Sven. So he had cautiously made his way over. Her face was hidden behind Sven's and her own arms, and the only thing he had been able to see were her eyes, bright blue and intense. The nursemaid hadn't exactly looked happy to see him, but she didn't say anything either.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"Uh…" It was weird, he thought, to tell her he was living at her house now. So he shrugged and said, "Playin'."

She had stared at him for a minute more, honestly looking rather creepy, and then asked, "Can I play with you?"

"Yeah, sure." He scratched his head. "Sven's on my team though."

"Who?"

"Sven." He gestured. Anna pulled away a little then to look at Sven, and patted him on the nose.

"Well, what are we playing?"

"I don't know. Uh. Hide and seek?" That might be good, actually, because that was something hard to play alone with Sven.

(He learned that day that Sven was actually a terrible partner to have during hide and seek, but every time Anna had found his rump sticking out of their hiding place she had laughed a little lighter, a little longer, so it had been fun all the same.)

Now he chased her, laughing, trying to force snow down the back of her dress. She didn't seem to care if her nice clothes got dirty, so he didn't care either. Her neckline was too high and tight to let the snow in, but he rubbed it pretty good on the back of her neck, and she shrieked and batted at him, then jumped on his back and drove them both into the snow.

"Sven! Sven, help me!" Sven wandered over and bit at Kristoff's cap, carrying it off. "Oh, _thanks_."

"Say truce!" Anna said, rubbing wet snow on his ears. "Say it!"

"Alright, alright, truce!" With a mighty heave he managed to knock her off, and she rolled down a snow drift, laughing.

He got the impression that most of the servants of the palace didn't really like it when he and Anna played like this. They shot him all kinds of dirty looks and muttered against themselves. And it was true Anna didn't look much like a princess rolling around in the snow like that, but princesses were boring, and Anna was fun, so he thought it was okay. At least Gerda, her nurse, had warmed up to him.

"Oh!" Anna said, scrambling to her knees and gathering snow. "Kristoff, let's build a snowman!"

Kristoff rolled over until he was next to her. "Yeah, okay." He pushed more snow into the pile, but she smacked his hand, and he glared at her.

"_You_ go get the carrots and stuff. And some sticks, ooh, and some coal!" She balled up the snow she had gathered and began rolling it around the yard. "Come on, hurry up!"

"I _know_ how to build a snowman," he grumbled. Sometimes she acted a lot like a princess after all, at least if princesses were really bossy. "Sven, let's get you a treat," he said, and the reindeer danced excitedly and followed him.

He gathered two carrots (one for the snowman, one to distract Sven), a bunch of sticks because he didn't know which Anna would want, and some round stones for the rest, since the coal was inside and he didn't want to go that far. When he got back Anna was finishing up the head. The bottom two parts of the snowman were already set into place, but not very well. The middle section teetered at an old angle to the bottom one. She obviously noticed and tried to fix it when she placed the head, but all she ended up with was a snowman the leaned in two different directions instead of one. Kristoff giggled, and she shot him a dirty look.

"Shut up," she said, and grabbed the leftover carrot from him. In short order they had given the snowman arms, buttons, and a smile made from a crooked twig.

"Not bad," Kristoff said, "but I think it could be better."

"How?" He reached out and flipped the twig mouth, giving the snowman a deep frown. Anna squawked and slapped at his arms. "You are _ruining_ my snowman!" she huffed as he laughed.

"It's pretty messed up already," he pointed out, and she shoved him down onto the snow before righting the snowman's frown. "_Ow_, Anna," he said with a laugh.

"You deserved it," she sniffed, sitting next to him. They observed the crooked snowman for a while.

"Elsa was always better than me at making snowmen," Anna said, with a forced casualness.

Kristoff didn't quite know what to say. He had snuck around the palace halls enough to know that talking about the missing princess was all but verboten. The servants never fell silent quite so quickly as they did if Princess Elsa had come up in conversation, and the king or queen was approaching. The search parties still went out, sometimes, and that was always when the whispering was the loudest. _What do they think they're going to find after all this time? It's false hope, it is. There's nowhere left to look_.

Once Kristoff had snuck into the kitchens at night to try and get some of the nice carrots used for royal meals (along with a few cookies Anna wouldn't miss). On his way out he had seen the queen, sobbing quietly in front of a picture of the missing princess. He knew he wasn't supposed to see it, and had never tiptoed quite so quickly in his life.

The next day the picture had been gone, replaced by a painting of a cottage on a mountain.

But now Anna was looking at him, so he simply said, "Yeah?"

Anna smiled, a small and hurt one, but it was better than no smile at all. She dropped her eyes to the patterns she was tracing in the snow. "Yeah. We liked playing in the snow together."

Snow. Snow, snow and ice, niggling at the back of his mind. The night the princess had disappeared, the night the king had found him in the forest and given him a home, had always felt more or less like a dream. And like a dream, it was hard to figure out which parts were real, which made sense, and which were only his imagination.

In his mind's eye he could see a glittering path of ice. He thought he could feel the chill of the winter wind. But the princess had disappeared in mid-spring, and too far down the mountain for ice, so that was impossible, wasn't it?

_What were they doing out there_? the servants asked among themselves sometimes. _In the woods so late at night, with both princesses_? And then they would look at him, the little peasant boy who had come home instead of the princess. He had tried to tell a few of them what happened, but then the whispers had only turned to how addled he was, what a pity, what a kindness of the King and Queen to take him in.

What a story! Surely he had imagined it, right? He must have.

"What?" Anna asked, looking at him strangely. He realized he had been staring into space.

"No, nothing," he mumbled.

"What is it?" Anna insisted, shifting closer. He bit his bottom lip, trying to think of how to explain ice and frost in spring, a sudden snowstorm, a princess flying up and away. Not sure if he should even try. What if he was addled after all?

Anna gasped. Sven had snuck in close, and now snapped up the snowman's carrot nose. "Sven, no!" she cried, and chased after him. Kristoff, too, stood and started running, not sure if he wanted to stop Sven or encourage him. He was laughing, Sven was braying, and Anna was shouting.

And in the noise, he just...forgot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Five years apart**

* * *

Jonne liked to talk sometimes about how smart Elsa was, usually after she had gotten herself into some kind of trouble and Elsa had gotten her out of it. But Elsa had realized some time ago that she wasn't smart at all, or at least wasn't smart _enough_.

Not smart enough to figure out how they were really going to make their way across tangled woods and through unfamiliar towns. Not smart enough to understand how difficult it would be to feed themselves when there wasn't a warm meal waiting somewhere for them if the hunt turned out poorly. Not smart enough to foresee how very bitter and painful a driving rain could be with no roof over their heads, how the wind could actually drive them back in a blizzard, no matter how hard they tried to move forward.

Not smart enough to find her way home, apparently.

The last two years had been difficult, incredibly difficult. Jonne was suspicious of strangers and kept them out of towns whenever possible. Elsa's reaction was more akin to fear; she remembered, sometimes, how Sabbe had said, _People are only as decent as they have to be_. And Elsa, with her sorcery, gave them a reason to be cruel. Meartá couldn't protect her anymore, and Jonne was as combative as ever, but only a child still.

Maybe it was that fear, or maybe that she was always a just little tired, or maybe that she was getting older and stronger—whatever the reason, she felt she had less control over her powers than ever before. For days on end they would leave her be; then there would be a burst of frost, and shock of ice, snow falling around them and betraying her every mood. She had for some reason associated the unwanted ice with the robber's castle. Had thought that when she left it, things would immediately make sense again, and her powers would only appear when she wanted to play. Now she felt like a fool for that too.

Jonne hid them in the forest each night, away from unfamiliar eyes, and Elsa hid her hands and the ice they could cast in heavy winter gloves. The gloves made her fingers thick and clumsy, but it was better than the alternative, no matter how Jonne pouted.

Winter was just beginning to fade. The calmest days in the snow were breathtakingly beautiful; even Jonne seems more peaceful against a blanket of white. But Elsa had come to hate winter storms more than anything, and was glad for the change in seasons. It would at least make the traveling easier.

They were slowly making their way south, after trying every which direction more times than Elsa could count. She had had a bit of a revelation some time ago that there was frost when she first arrived in the thieves' forest when there was none in Arendelle, and so she must have gone north. Jonne had called her very clever for that, but she thought if she were really clever she would have realized it sooner.

Now, on the occasions they would stop at a town for supplies, she could mention Arendelle and sometimes see the merchants nodding in recognition. It should have excited her; instead it tied her stomach into a sick knot and sent cold shivers down to her fingertips. Whenever she thought of Arendelle there was a pressing weight in the back of her thoughts that she couldn't quite name, but it lead to the dragging of her feet, a heaviness in her tongue that stilled it when she should have been asking for a map, for directions, for help.

If Jonne had noticed (of course she had) she was at least quiet about it. She had stopped asking for snow and ice eventually, when it became apparent that the subject made Elsa uncomfortable, and when the snow that fell naturally became more than they could really deal with.

The dealing had become easier over time. Jonne was skilled as a hunter, and almost as skilled a thief, for the supplies they couldn't get from the woods. Elsa had learned to set a bone and stitch a gash and collected bits of healing herbs as they walked. Now as long as there wasn't a storm they were fed enough, and rested enough, and sometimes warm enough.

And that just had to be enough.

They entertained themselves during the walking by telling stories and chasing birds, climbing trees and skipping stones. Jonne had evened out just a little, or maybe didn't have the energy for quite as much yelling and fighting as she once did. But she laughed and smiled as much as ever, kissed and hugged Elsa, whirled her around and sometimes tackled and tickled her. It was the nicest part of anything, so much so that Elsa thought she enjoyed it rather more than she should. Then Jonne would catch her hand, and she would lose her thoughts.

It was supplies that lead them into a little town along the sea. They needed lots of things—a sturdier hatchet, blankets that weren't worn quite so thin, more dried fruits and vegetables. But what they needed most were new boots. Elsa's were so broken down that her feet ached constantly, even in the mornings after a night of rest. Jonne never complained, but she was growing again, and her toes were pinched so tightly that she often had bloody blisters in the evening.

Spring was beginning to thaw the frozen ground and many people were out wandering, but Elsa kept on her thick leather gloves. It looked strange in this weather, but made her feel a bit better all the same.

Jonne darted around, "scouting" she called it, learning which merchants were where. They would no doubt be back to visit some of them in the dead of night. Gnawing hunger and driving rain had eased Elsa's objections long ago, so now she entertained herself by reading the bulletins posted in the village square.

When Jonne sidled up to her, grinning, it was with a bright green apple in each hand. Elsa glanced over her shoulder at the fruit merchant and immediately drew closer to provide Jonne with a bit more cover.

"You're going to get us driven out of here," she said, plucking the apples from her and tucking them into her jacket where they couldn't be seen.

"Not if we aren't caught," Jonne said, and looked at the bulletins. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, either I'm forgetting how to read or half the people here have terrible handwriting."

Jonne laughed, a single sharp bark, and Elsa saw a man glance over at them. "You can't forget! You're the only one of us who knows anything."

"You know plenty," she said, putting a hand on Jonne's arm to guide her away. "None of it fit for polite company, but lucky you, you only have to put up with me."

"Are you going to show me how rude you are now?" Jonne bounced and danced ahead of Elsa, walking backwards to keep her in sight. "I think I'd like to see that! Would you like me to start you off? I've got a rude idea or two."

"You're a child," Elsa said, and stuck out her tongue.

"Only as much as you." She stopped, abruptly bringing them toe to toe. "Are you a child anymore? Seems to me that you've moved on."

It was a strange thing to say, as were most things that left Jonne's mouth, but there was a ring of truth that gave Elsa pause. "I'm thirteen," Elsa said after some consideration. "Niikko was thirteen, or about, when you found me, and they treated him like one of the men."

"Niikko?! No—you're not anywhere near as old as him."

"Well, no, I'm not. That's the funny thing; he gets older exactly as fast as I do." Jonne seemed to be seriously considering this, and Elsa smirked, stepping just a bit closer. "Jonne."

"Hm?"

"I'm thirteen years old."

It took a moment for her meaning to click into place, and then Jonne flicked her eyes to Elsa's. "You're thirteen," she said slowly. "And it's...March, now. So we are, the both of us, thirteen years old. Right now."

Laughing, Elsa grabbed her arm and shook it. "Tell me how old you are!"

"I told you, woman!" Jonne cried, darting back, dragging Elsa right along with her. "Don't you trust me yet?"

"Never!" They ended up hip to hip, grinning. There was a dog barking somewhere, and Jonne, easily distracted as ever, looked away.

Elsa's own gaze was becoming unfocused. The weight at the back of her thoughts was pressing ever more heavily, and she thought she would have to words to describe it soon. _I'm thirteen_, she thought. _I'm not a child anymore_. It was disconcerting. _I was a child when I got lost but I'm not a child anymore_.

"Elsa?" She roused herself, and on instinct looked down to where her hands were still wrapped around Jonne's elbow. There was frost spreading, and she yanked her hands back.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. She clenched her fists, and felt ice crackle on the insides of the gloves.

"What for?" Jonne asked, carelessly brushing the frost away. Her voice was almost a challenge, and Elsa wrapped her hands around her stomach and dropped her head. The apples caused uncomfortable lumps in her coat.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go find somewhere we can eat these."

—

They had made a camp in the forest outside the town, but crept back once the moon was high. "I think this'll be best," Jonne said, leading them down an alley and behind a store. She made quick work of a window and pulled herself up. "It's not too far into town and has lots of stuff. Here, is there anything else you need?"

There were a number of things Elsa needed, first among them a pair of thin gloves she could wear without drawing quite so much attention or leaving her as clumsy as a toddler. Her winter gloves were useless for fine work, and she had left them at the campsite to dry. However, the things _they_ needed came first, so she was silent as Jonne hoisted her to the windowsill.

Most of the windows in the building were shuttered, and Elsa found herself holding her breath in the darkness. She hoped, not for the first time, that Jonne was actually as clever as Elsa thought she was, and not as dull as she claimed to be.

The other girl was moving now, and Elsa followed very carefully. If she squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds at a time, the room looked just a bit brighter when she opened them, so she decided it would be most useful just to stay still and do that.

"Elsa, I can't tell which one's right." Even though it was a whisper it carried too well in the silent shop. Elsa found herself making a shushing sound on instinct, and saw Jonne shift slightly. She followed the movement.

Jonne set a boot beside Elsa's foot. "That's all right, isn't it?" she asked. Elsa couldn't see quite well enough, so she felt along her toes and heels.

"It's fine," she muttered. "Hurry." She saw motion out of the corner of her eye, and gasped; but it was only a dip in the shadows, small and slight. A rat? Or no, it was actually the shadow itself, moving just slightly, as though the scant light itself were flickering.

"Jonne," she said, instinct tensing her spine.

The door beside them opened; there was a man with a lantern, his face shifting from suspicion to shock to anger, and Elsa cried out. Fear bloomed inside her, sharp and cold.

Jonne lunged forward, slamming his arm against doorframe and driving an elbow into his gut. He staggered, breath he had been drawing for a shout escaping his lungs in a rough grunt. The lantern dropped, and from its place on the ground cast strange, misproportioned shadows.

Jonne was turning, and Elsa reaching for her, when the man recovered and lashed out, his fist catching Jonne hard on the side of the head. She lurched, took a half step more, and fell.

"No!" Snowflakes were bursting across Elsa's vision, frost crackling in her knuckles, and it was without thought that she raised her hands and cast ice beneath the man's heels. He skidded but did not fall; she cast again, this time directly at his feet, and he finally tumbled, his head hitting the ice with an ugly _**crack**_**!**

Jonne was slowly pushing herself up, her eyes unfocused and face pale, and Elsa pulled her by the arm. She would never be able to get them both through the little window, so she raced forward, yanking Jonne across the ice and around the still body of the man. The front door was open, and they burst through it, running as hard as they could.

Elsa's legs were trembling; they felt like they might buckle at any moment, but she pushed onwards. Her heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it would leap up to her throat and choke her, and she could feel her hands and ears becoming cold and numb as the blood drained from them. Beneath her feet was the _crunch crunch crunch _of snow; the sound tickled a memory she didn't want, made her already weak body feel sick and empty. And still she ran.

"Elsa," Jonne gasped, grabbing at her arm. They were deep in the woods now, far away, but not (_never_) far enough. "Elsa!" Jonne seized her, and spun her around, hands tight on Elsa's arms. Elsa wanted nothing more than to claw at the touch, to fight and force herself away. "It's alright—look, you've got to calm down, you're making too much snow and he'll be able to follow us!"

"I _can't_!" she yelled, finally shoving Jonne hard enough to send her reeling back. There was a winter wind whipping around them, and snow between them now, falling ever faster. Elsa's mind was no longer under her control. Somewhere distantly there was a chorus of _staycalm staycalm staycalm staycalm_, but the words were meaningless, and all she could see was the snow, and a girl falling, _falling_…

Jonne took a step forward, reaching out, and Elsa darted back. "Stay away from me!"

Jonne lifted both hands, conciliating, or maybe surrendering. She took a step back, then another, until she disappeared behind the snow and the trees. Still panic clawed at Elsa's throat, and she fell to her knees, crying with the wind. Giving herself into the cold.

—

By the time she collected herself, dawn's weak rays were beginning to eke through the tree branches. There was a clarity to the light, and although she was exhausted and ashamed, Elsa felt sharper than she had in a long time. Evidence of her breakdown, of her fear, sat in drifts around her, and it was almost a beacon. She thought she finally had words for the weight at the back of her thoughts.

Or maybe she was just desperate and delirious from fatigue.

She tentatively followed the path where Jonne had disappeared. It didn't take long to find her; the other girl was leaning against the roots of a large tree, busy building, and subsequently mauling, small snowmen.

"Hey!" Jonne called as she saw her. She scrambled to her feet. "Are you feeling better?"

Elsa nodded, and this time when Jonne came to her with outstretched arms she let herself be swept up in them. Her own hands she kept clutched tight to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Jonne's head shifted, and she thought she felt a kiss pressed to her hair.

"_I'm_ sorry. I wasn't paying attention." She kissed Elsa's ear, cheek, nose. The kisses made her cheeks flush, and in another mood might have done even more. "Everyone gets scared, Elsa," she murmured. "I mean, I don't, but that's probably because my head isn't quite right."

The tentative joke was meant as a peace offering, but Elsa was too tired, too somber, to laugh. She buried her face in Jonne's neck, drawing in the familiar scent.

"I can't go back like this," she whispered. There it was. The thought that had been pressing on her for so long that it was almost as familiar as her nose or her hair, finally given words.

"What?" Jonne pulled back slightly, keeping her hands on Elsa's arms.

Elsa bit her lip, and dropped her own hands from her chest to her waist. "I can't go back to Arendelle," she said, "not like this."

Jonne seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "But," she finally said, "we're getting close. I mean I know we are."

"I know, but _look_." She gestured at the snow, so much thicker here than the rest of the forest. "Last time I—" _almost killed Anna_, she wanted to finish, but she choked on the "almost" because...what if it wasn't _almost_?

_Stay calm. Papa took care of her. Stay calm_.

"Last time I hurt Anna," she said instead, "because I panicked, and...I still do." She looked at the miniature snowmen, the ice covering the trees around them. "And it's getting worse."

Jonne's face had taken on the solemn, unreadable expression it sometimes did when she was thinking. "Then what would make it better?"

Her first reaction was frustration (_as if it were that easy)_, but she forced it down and thought for a moment. "Because," Jonne continued, "you always seemed to know what you were doing when we played together. But we haven't played together like that in a long time."

"I don't want people to see," Elsa said slowly. She wanted to keep them safe. But this—the storm she had created—wasn't safe, was it?

"Then we'll hide," Jonne said easily. "But you should practice, right? That's what you tell me when I don't want to read things."

"It'd get easier if you did it more," Elsa said automatically. Then realization dawned, and when she focused on Jonne, the other girl was smiling.

"Okay?" Jonne asked.

"Okay," she said. But… "Where are we going to go?"

"Well." Jonne stepped back fully and pointed. "We could keep going south. That's fun because every step I take south is as far south as I've ever been. Or we could go north. It's colder, which might make things easier for you. Or," she stuck out both her arms and pinwheeled them wildly, "we could go any of _these_ directions."

A small, unconscious giggle finally bubbled up, and Jonne beamed as though she had found a treasure. "We should probably go get our stuff first," Elsa pointed out.

"Well if you want to be _practical_ about it."

They found and cleared their small campsite, and at Jonne's prompting Elsa picked a random direction, pointedly refusing to orient herself beforehand.

"You know what you should do," Jonne said thoughtfully as they walked.

"What?"

"Make an ice sculpture."

"What?" Elsa slowed to a stop, and Jonne skipped backwards to face her. "In the middle of the woods?"

"Yeah!" Jonne was bouncing now. "Just imagine! Someone finds it and starts looking for a rogue ice sculptor. 'Where did they go? How did they do it? Such talent!'" She laughed as Elsa's disbelieving face. "Come on. Someone's going to find it, and you'll have made their day just that much more magical." When Elsa hesitated, she added, "It'd make you feel better. You know it would."

It was terribly difficult to keep from smiling around Jonne sometimes. And it had been so long since she used her powers just for the sake of them. "What should I make?"

"Bear!" she blurted. "A bear! Make a bear, Elsa!"

Elsa laughed and dropped her pack. "Alright, alright." Sparks of magic danced on her fingertips, more comfortably than she would have thought possible after the previous night. And then she was summoning, building, from paw to belly to shoulder to ears last of all. Jonne clapped in delight. Before them a ice bear stood on its hind legs, looking almost nonplussed at its state. The figure was rough and simple, but Elsa was flush with magic and success all the same.

"Okay," Jonne said, "now we hide and when someone comes by, we roar."

"No," Elsa said instantly, and Jonne laughed, her face bright with joy. Elsa laughed too, and pushed her forward. "You got your way. Let's go."

"You're amazing," Jonne said before finally turning away. Elsa felt herself blush, and hid it by falling half a step behind.

Before they could get too far away she looked back once more at what she had created. And for the first time in a while, felt just a grain of pride.

* * *

For her tenth birthday Anna got a very clever miniature boat that she could really set sailing in the castle pond, a bunch of dresses, some pretty and meant for formal affair and some fantastical and meant only for play, and a gorgeous bracelet that her parents had quickly told her was only to be worn inside the castle. Kristoff didn't get her anything, but he ate her chocolate and her cake and at the end of the night sang her a song he had written just for her, which she thought was nicer than some of the dresses but not as nice as the boat. Sven chewed on her hair, but only a little.

It was a good birthday, but the day after she found she also had many new lessons about politics, geography, etiquette (as practiced by various people outside of Arendelle, because apparently one set of rules wasn't difficult enough), and yet more languages, in additional to all the lessons she already had.

It left her little time for the easy play she used to indulge in, and she would often find herself slouching deep in her chair at the breakfast table, the anticipation of her tutoring fouling her mood.

"Why do I suddenly have to know all this stuff?" she whined, and slid an inch further, etiquette lessons be damned.

"It's important for a princess to know all kinds of things," her father said. Her mother pinched her thigh gently, and she sighed and hoisted herself back up.

"But do I have to learn it all right now?"

"It'll get easier soon," her mother said with a fond smile. "You just have to get used to it. You'll have plenty of time to play later, don't worry."

Then she'd have plenty of time to learn later too, she thought, but didn't say. It's just that winter was finally over, and that meant people would need to start getting their ice from the harvesters again, and Kristoff would be much busier. What good would it be to have time to play if she had to play by herself?

"You're growing up," her father said. "You're going to have more responsibilities." And that was that.

Still, she dawdled after breakfast, and ended up running for her schoolroom when she finally acknowledged the time.

"Sorry I'm late, Master Niels!" she blurted as she skidded through the door. Instead of the stern talking to she expected, silence greeted her. The room was empty.

For a moment she wondered if time had stopped behaving normally. Then she wondered if she were early, and dismissed that idea as even less plausible. Master Niels was late then.

That thought made her even more smug than the idea that she had been early for once. She took her seat and tried to think of a way to rub it in his face once he showed up while still technically being polite. As far as she could tell the most important skill one could employ in both politics and etiquette was figuring out how to say rude things in such a way that they sounded civil.

After ten minutes both her imagination and her patience had run out, and she was seriously considering whether she could draw all over her slate and successfully blame it on trolls.

A young maid, who she recognized as Nona, peeked in and quickly bowed to her. "Your Highness, so sorry." She held up a note. "Master Niels has fallen ill and won't be able to attend to you today. I'm on my way to let your father know, but I thought you might be here."

"Thanks!" Anna said, mind suddenly racing. She bounced to her feet. "I was getting really bored." She plucked the note from Nona's hand. "Don't worry about this; I need to go see my father anyway, so I'll give it to him."

Nona looked reluctant to give up her duty, but wouldn't say anything against the princess. So she bowed again and took her leave.

Anna watched her go, and then raced quickly to the study, where she knew a fire burned. The letter was disposed of quickly, and then it was to her bedroom to change into her play clothes and boots.

Finally! Time for some fun!

It was exciting, sneaking through the castle. No one who saw her gave her any notice, she didn't think, and it was in a fit of triumph that she raced towards the stable. Once at Kristoff's door she banged on it rapidly with both fists, forgoing her usually knocking rhythm. "Kristoff! _Kristoff_!"

There was a thud, and a skidding sound. Kristoff threw the door open, his eyes wide and frantic. "What, what is it?!" he gasped

"My tutor's sick! We can go play!"

"Your...your tutor's…" He groaned and slumped against the doorframe. Sven wandered over to sniff at him curiously. "You almost banged down my door because you want to go play? I thought you were dying or something!"

"I am dying!" she said, employing her best dramatic voice and pressing a faint hand to her brow. "I'm dying...of boredom!"

He shut the door in her face.

"Oh come on!" she said, letting her head fall forward onto the rough wood. "What else are you going to do?"

"We were going to relax," he called back, voice muffled. "It's our day off! Some of us do actual work, you know."

"Hey! I'll have you know I learned German yesterday!"

"All of it?"

"...I learned _some_ German yesterday!"

He scoffed, but also opened the door, which was the important part. She skipped past him, vigorously rubbed Sven's snout, and threw herself on a bale of hay. Kristoff sat instead on one of the dining chairs she had ignored. It always smelled pretty gross in the stable room, which Kristoff blamed on Sven and the horses but Anna suspected was just as much his fault.

"So your parents said you could play instead of doing lessons today?" he asked.

Anna was plucking out single straws of hay and feeding them to Sven one by one. "Yeah, sure."

Kristoff smirked. "You didn't tell them, did you?"

"Oh, he's a smart boy, yes he is!" Anna cooed at Sven, squeezing the reindeer's cheeks since she couldn't reach Kristoff's. "Such a smart boy!" Kristoff threw some dirty socks at her.

"What do you want to do then?" he asked, and quickly crossed his arms. "I'm not playing dressup again."

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, sure you are, but not today. If someone sees us I'll get in trouble."

That limited their options quite a bit, and Kristoff sighed as he thought. "Well do you want to go out to the market or something then?"

Anna blew a raspberry and flopped around until she was draped across the hay bale on her stomach. "I wanna go exploring! I feel like I'm locked up in that stupid castle all the time." Then she gasped and kicked her feet in excitement as a completely wonderful idea sprung to mind. "Kristoff! Let's go hunt for trolls!"

He scratched his head. "What, like in the mountains?"

"Yeah, yeah! You know the way, come on!" Kristoff didn't exactly look thrilled at the idea, so she rolled over on her back and pointed to the white streak in her hair. "I was kissed by a troll once, you know."

"You were not," he said automatically, exchanging one of his 'can you believe this girl?' looks with Sven.

"How do _you_ know, you weren't _there_," she groused. Kristoff finally chuckled and stood up.

"I guess if trolls are kissing you I should have a word with them," he said, lowering his voice and squaring his shoulders.

Anna laughed, and he deflated a little. "You're so weird. Look, go into the kitchen and get us some lunch or something to take. You know, since the kitchen ladies _loooooooove yooooou_." Which was true; most of the female staff in the palace had developed a bit of a soft spot for the boy, a fact she teased him about relentlessly. He made an ugly face at her but set out for the kitchen just the same.

—

Sven had grown much faster than either of them, which made it easy for Anna to hide behind him as they snuck out through the courtyard. They had a bit of an argument about who should be in front ("You're the one who wanted to look for trolls. Don't you know where they are?" "How should I know that? You're the mountain guy, you lead the way!") before deciding that Sven, with his animal instinct, was probably their best shot.

Once safely out of town, Anna picked a thin green switch and used it to lash at the brush, enjoying the mist of dew and melted frost knocked from the plants with every stroke. Kristoff sang his working songs, which seemed to make the walking easier, at least until he ran out of breath.

"Do you ever come this way when you work?" she asked.

"Yeah. I mean it's familiar, even though we usually don't go this exact way." They were in the forest proper by this point, walking in whichever direction the trees seemed the thinnest. There was a bit of a trail, but not a true or proper path. "Me and Sven usually take shortcuts through the forest, since we travel by ourselves."

Anna tried to picture the woods at night. The thought made her uncomfortable. "Is that ever scary?"

"No," Kristoff said, and didn't seem inclined to talk about it any further.

Instead they played rhyming games and spying games, ate some apples and bread, and had a burping contest, which they both claimed to win in turn. They stopped and drank at a small, clear creek, and Anna wanted to splash in it, but changed her mind when dipping her hands in quickly made them numb. There was still lots of snow melting off the north mountains.

About noon Kristoff had apparently had enough, and started dragging his feet. "Where are we even going?"

"I don't know," she said. "We're following your reindeer."

Kristoff clapped Sven on the shoulder. "Well I'm just telling you that Sven's been taking me through the mountains for years and we haven't seen a troll yet."

Anna turned up her nose. "Maybe you just weren't looking hard enough."

"Yeah, you look like you're looking real hard," he said as she decapitated a crocus flower with her switch. She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the favor and wandered closer. "Annaaaaaaa."

"Whaaaaaaat?"

"I'm tiiiiiiiired. Carry me." He abruptly collapsed against her back, and Anna shrieked and staggered to a quick stop.

"Kristoff! Ride Sven if you're tired!" She tried to struggle out from under him, and he looped his arms around her shoulders to catch her.

"Sven's tired too. Aren't you boy?" Sven brayed. Anna couldn't see anything except Kristoff's arms from this angle, but there was an insufferable smirk in his voice, she just knew it.

"You are ridiculous," she said. Then she sighed, shuffled back a half step, and bent to wrap her arms around his legs.

Kristoff perked up immediately. "What, are you really?"

"A princess—" she said, catching one leg, "—can do anything—" catching the other, "—she sets her—" jerking the whole of his body up with an almost debilitating amount of effort, "—guh..._mind_ to." And with that she staggered forward.

Kristoff laughed, sharp and loud, since it was right in her ear. "Onward, mighty steed!"

"Oh, I am going to _drop_ you." Sven had been watching them curiously, but was distracted by a scent on the ground and wandered away. Anna made it three more steps before losing her breath in a explosive gasp, and wheezed, "Okay I'm actually going to drop you get off."

She only dropped him halfway before he found his feet, still laughing. She caught her breath as he called, "Sven, boy?" and went to bring the reindeer back around.

"Hey, Anna."

"What?" She looked up. Kristoff was staring into the woods were Sven was wandering, but she couldn't see anything worth drawing attention to.

Apparently Kristoff did. He glanced meaningfully at her and said, "Notice anything weird?"

She looked around again. The woods on either side of them looked much like the woods they had spent all morning passing. She couldn't see anything coming either in front of or behind them.

Then she looked at Kristoff. And saw that, where he was standing at the bottom of a small hill, there was a faint path worn through the trees. As though this small section were much more heavily travelled than the rest.

Somebody had been going into these woods.

She looked at him and returned his grin. "Let's check it out!"

Sven was meandering ever farther, and Anna started getting excited that maybe he had actually found something after all. Someone must have found something down this way before, right? Otherwise why would they have returned so often as to wear a path?

Kristoff, too, was looking around curiously. "Do you know where we're going?" she asked.

"No," he said, but didn't sound sure of it at all.

She skipped next to him, tried to catch his eyes. "Do you?"

He shook himself, and faced forward again. "I don't remember." He pointed and said, "Come on, we're going to lose Sven."

After a quarter of an hour Anna's excitement had worn away. The trail they were following seemed to become at once more scattered and more faded. She was just about to declare it a failure when Kristoff gasped. "What's that?!" he cried, pointed to a shape half obscured by a bush.

"What, where?!" They rushed forward to see… "It's a rock."

Kristoff blushed. "Oh. I, uh, thought it was moving."

Anna snorted. "Maybe you are tired." She stepped up on the rock and hopped off, then twirled around with a sigh. "I don't think we're actually going to find anything out here."

"I guess not," Kristoff said, and whistled for Sven. "We should probably head back soon anyway, or they're going to notice you're gone."

"Yeah." She sighed again. So much for her first adventure in a while. She was tired too, and kind of hungry. "Do we have anything left to eat?"

"Oh, yeah, they made me sandwiches and stuff." They settled beneath a tree and split the sandwiches, with Anna taking some extra pears and Kristoff and Sven sharing the carrots while she made faces at them.

"This was fun though," Kristoff said after they had finished flicking pear seeds back and forth. Anna felt a bit bad for thinking it was boring; they didn't get to play together enough, after all.

"Yeah." She stuck out her legs and knocked her feet together, watching the small clouds of dust shake from them. "It must be nice, getting to come out here all the time."

"Well, it's work, I mean it's…" Sven looked up suddenly, and Kristoff trailed off too. A few seconds later Anna heard it; a rumble, like footsteps. As one they scrambled to their feet. Was she about to find her adventure after all?

The pounding grew louder, and was somehow coming from all around them. "Princess Anna!" someone yelled, and she gasped.

"What—" Kristoff started to say, but suddenly a guardsman raced by them, sharply rearing his horse.

"Princess!" he cried, then turned to yell. "Your Majesty! I've found her!"

Sven was skittering nervously, and Kristoff drawing away. Anna was rooted to the spot, a terrible, sick feeling bursting in her gut.

Her father appeared, followed by half a dozen more guards. "Anna!" he called as he swiftly dismounted his horse and knelt before her. She found herself roughly squeezed to his chest, then just as roughly pushed back so he could look her in the face. "Where have you been? What are you doing here?" His face was tight with worry, and she felt not only anxious, but terribly guilty as well.

"We-we were just exploring," she said dully, and saw from the corner of her eye one of the guards grabbing Kristoff by the arm and dressing him down. "Master Niels was sick and I wanted to play and—"

"You _know_ you're not supposed to go off on your own!" her father said, and she shrunk in on herself.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and then tried, "but Kristoff knows the mountains so I thought…" She withered at the look on his face as he glanced over at the boy. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said again.

"How did you find this place?" he asked, his voice lower and his tone unidentifiable.

Anna cast her thoughts about desperately, but didn't see what there was to say. There was nothing out here, wasn't there? "What place?" she asked, and at the look on his face quickly continued, "We were just walking through the forest, and we noticed there was a trail worn out here, so we were trying to follow it and see where it went. But, I mean...it doesn't go anywhere." There was something to her father's face, something she didn't understand, and she tilted her head. "Right?" she asked him.

He stood. "We're going home right now. Your mother is worried sick."

"Okay," she said, feeling very small. "I'm sorry." She glanced to the side again, and caught his arm. "Papa, tell him to stop yelling at Kristoff. It wasn't his fault, it was my idea."

"Lieutenant," the king barked, and the soldier quickly backed down. Kristoff stood stock still, his ears red and his face dark. Anna's father beckoned him over. "Anna cannot go into the mountains without an escort," he told Kristoff once he came close, speaking like Anna wasn't even there at all. "You need to see to it that this is so."

Anna felt a surge of annoyance momentarily replace her guilt. Kristoff wasn't in charge of her, and she wasn't a little kid anymore. Hadn't her father been the one who said she was growing up? At least Kristoff looked similarly unimpressed with the edict.

Her father helped her to the front of his horse, and when she realized they were going to be at the castle soon—with her mother—Anna felt the guilt come back in spades. She spent the entirety of the ride staring very hard at the saddle horn and wishing she had never believed in trolls at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Eight years apart**

* * *

Without quite realizing she was doing it, Elsa had settled back into a structure very similar to the one she once had in Arendelle. Her lessons were different now, of course. Instead of mathematics, she experimented with how thin she could spin ice before it couldn't hold its own weight. Instead of art, she studied the way the wind moved with her magic, and the snow that travelled on it. She had, at least for now, given up on banishing the snow entirely. One step at a time.

So, practice, and lots of it. It was simplest when there was a schedule, so they made one. Mornings were for traveling. Afternoons were for hunting (Jonne) or practice (Elsa). Evenings were for taking care of the little things that had to be dealt with: darning socks, mending shoes, cleaning Jonne's regular wounds and replacing the bandages.

Jonne, she realized, hadn't been so happy since they had left the robbers' den. She had missed the magic much more than Elsa ever realized. Well, she could see it now, and she luxuriated in the privilege.

Part of the practice was being around people. It was her least favorite part, but if she were just going to be alone forever, then it didn't matter whether she could control herself or not, did it? She could lock herself away on a frozen tundra cold enough to kill anyone that came for her, and cast as much ice as she wanted.

She didn't want that. Not really. So. Practice.

Jonne, it turned out, had some clever ideas of her own. The best way to keep their trips into town from being an exercise in torture? Turn them into more lessons!

So they used the excursions to learn about haggling and bartering (Jonne excelled at screaming at merchants, while Elsa found flattery more effective for her), how to pick out the best produce, how to turn the meager supplies they gathered into a bit of coin. They picked up shared songs, shared dances, shared language. Now, Jonne could spin her around a communal fire, and she didn't care who saw. Now, she could move through a crowd of strangers without feeling panicked and hiding her hands. Now, the time they spent in the noise and bustle of a settlement was often enjoyable.

It was a search for just that kind of fun that led them to wander into a remote village. Recently Elsa had been practicing her most complex forms only while Jonne was away, and dismissing them before she returned. She had an idea, one she ensured the ever impatient Jonne was worth waiting for.

The waiting was almost done. She thought she was ready, and it just so happened that the closest village was having a festival, so they decided to celebrate.

Their supplies were left outside of town, covered in a thick sheet of Elsa's ice and a light layer of snow to make it look like any other boulder. This time of year in Arendelle would still be sunny and only cool, but this far north things were already beginning to freeze for winter.

They could hear the drum as they made their way towards the communal fire, and Jonne was already bouncing excitedly. They were strangers, but the mood of the crowd was jovial. Friends joked amongst each other, children ran and screamed, and near the fire a group of women were dancing.

No one protested when Jonne pulled Elsa into the dance circle with the other women. It took several minutes to find the rhythm; the dances were at least a little different anywhere they went, but they adjusted quickly enough. Elsa was twirling, stomping her feet, beaming. In the evening half-light Jonne looked indistinct and ethereal. Then she caught Jonne's eyes, sharp and bright, and was glad for the spin that gave her room to breath.

They danced until she thought she would fall. When she finally managed to pull Jonne away from the fire, they were both flush and warm from the exertion. Elsa was happy for the chance to catch her breath, but Jonne was merely energized from the excitement, and her feet skipped across the snow to the still audible beat of the drums.

There was a frozen lake at the edge of the village, and Elsa could see the marks in the snow where people were already beginning to venture out on the ice. There was no one near now, and she and Jonne headed directly for its center. About forty feet out there was a sharp crack as the ice began to break under Jonne's feet. Elsa quickly grasped her arm to pull her back, then stepped forward herself and sent a chill into the still liquid water below them, freezing it and thickening the ice. Jonne stomped on the ice, rough and confident, and then they continued on, Elsa's every step firming the ice beneath them.

It was a small thing, one that might not really help anyone. But it was something _good_ she could do with her powers, and if it kept even one person from falling through the ice, then it was worth it.

She and Jonne walked arm and arm in a slow arc across the widest part of the lake. Jonne kept up a meandering conversation, rambling on about whatever thought crossed her mind before going on to the next thing. Elsa had nothing to do but nod and smile fondly.

As they once again approached the bank, a man appeared from between some nearby buildings and waved to them. "You should be careful!" he called. "The ice might not hold!"

"Feels sturdy enough to me!" Jonne chirped, and Elsa laughed and pulled her away. The man waved them off, looking confused but good-natured.

"Here, do you want to stay in the village tonight?" Jonne asked. "We could probably put up the tent pretty near the fire if you like."

Elsa shook her head, and then said, "Not unless you're cold." Jonne shot her an offended look at that, and she grinned. They had survived far worse cold than this.

Most of the village was still at the celebration, and Elsa walked until she found the snow matted and melted with the signs of children's play. After a quick glance around she laid down a fresh layer of snow—thicker and heavier than the powder that had fallen previously, and perfect for making snowballs.

Jonne stomped through the fresh snow, taking care to make perfectly formed boot prints. "Are you done with your good deeds now?" she asked, sending Elsa a rakish grin. "Are you ready for some real fun?"

"Oh yes," Elsa said.

—

The sounds of the village were well behind them by the time they found a suitable clearing. Their supplies had been retrieved and were now leaning against a nearby tree. Jonne stood in the middle of the clearing, turning a full circle to take it in, and ending up facing Elsa.

"This is alright, isn't it?" she said. Then she lowered her voice and said, "Come on, little girl, show me something pretty."

"Stop that," Elsa said at once, wrinkling her nose. Jonne laughed and skipped back to her side, eyes wide and face flush with excitement. Elsa flexed her fingers, feeling the magic hum in them, the frost crackling deep in her bones. Then she raised her hands and let the magic flow.

She had been working out this idea for quite a while, and thought she could finally pull it off. She gestured, and frost burst from the ground, reaching up and spreading unnaturally, growing into a shimmering white hedge. Flowers bloomed next, marigolds and buttercups and geraniums, with lupines growing tall and proud and graceful lilies-of-the-valleys bowing under the weight of their ice blossoms.

It was difficult, delicate work that required much more concentration than the rough ice structures she would summon to house them sometimes, or even the sculptures she left at the edges of towns they visited. But Jonne was gaping, flabbergasted even though she had spent the last eight years exalting in Elsa's powers. And that made it worth it.

She tore her eyes from Jonne's awestruck face and poured her effort into the final set piece. A thick spear of ice shot from the ground, forming the trunk from which more icicle branches grew and spread. She even added three little larks made of snow nesting in the lower branches. When the trunk was in place she waved her hand, and thousands of leaves of perfectly formed frost burst into life at once. Jonne gasped.

She beckoned the wind, making it swirl around them, carrying with it the bright snow and rustling the frost plants. It even sent the snow larks fluttering about. Elsa heard some sharp tinkling that meant some of the more fragile blossoms hadn't held, but the effect was of a perfectly magical snowfall in an impossible forest of ice.

Jonne was feeling behind herself feebly, and Elsa quickly cast an ice stump for her to drop onto. "Elsa," she said, but couldn't seem to find any words besides that. Elsa was grinning so wide that her cheeks were sore, but she couldn't seem to stop.

Jonne lifted a hand and held it out to one of the snow larks, which alighted on her outstretched fingers. "How are you doing this?" she asked. "How are you making them fly?"

Elsa, flush with success and focused on the grand picture her display made, didn't understand at first. "What?"

"They're flying," she said, and gestured. Elsa looked more closely, and gaped. The larks weren't being carried on the window at all; they had little wings and flapped them to flit through the air. She hadn't given them those, had she? She held out her own hand, and another of the larks settled on it almost instantly. When its wings folded the seam between them and the rest of its body disappeared, as if it hadn't been there at all. At this distance she could see its delicate little legs, made of thin icicles that wrapped around her finger.

"I'm not doing it," she said, disbelieving. She met Jonne's eyes and found them wild with elation.

"So they're just flying?" Jonne asked. A second lark landed on Elsa's shoulder, and the third had ended up on top of Jonne's cap, which she hadn't seemed to notice yet.

"They are," Elsa said, wonder bleeding into her voice.

Jonne stood to wrap her hands around Elsa's waist. For several moments her tongue seemed to have abandoned her. She opened her mouth only to close it again. Elsa giggled. She finally said, "You're incredible," and bent to kiss her. Elsa threw her arms around Jonne's shoulders, feeling the lark flutter away, and returned the kiss.

After several long minutes they withdrew. Jonne left her forehead resting against Elsa's for a moment more, and then pulled away to take in all of Elsa's creation once again.

"Please, _please_, leave this," she said. Elsa squeezed her arms in apology, and stepped away.

"It's a bit conspicuous, isn't it?" Jonne pouted, and she kissed it quickly away. Then she focused, remembering the warmth of the kiss, and plucked at the magic woven through the ice around them until it came apart, sending glittering particles of snow drifting into the air where they faded away. This was important too, she knew, no matter how Jonne sulked. If she couldn't stop the snow entirely, then she could at least dismiss it. The larks she left alone.

When she looked back at Jonne, she was surprised to see her looking neither happy nor disappointed. Instead her face was serious, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the fat little snow bird still nesting on her cap.

"What is it?" Elsa asked.

Jonne shook her head. "I'm just really impressed, you know? Proud. You've learned so much."

A warm sense of pride spread through Elsa's chest. "Thank you," she said, gently scooping up the lark still on her shoulder to hold in her hands.

"I knew you'd figure it out," Jonne continued. "You're awfully smart." She scratched her head, and finally noticed her interloper. She batted at it, but it only fluttered away to immediately land on the cap again, and she gave up.

"Well," she said then, "what do we do next?"

"I guess it's about time to find a place to camp?" Elsa said, nudging her own lark away.

"So practical," Jonne said with a cheeky grin. "But I actually meant more generally this time."

"Hm?"

"What do you want to do next?" Jonne motioned towards the once again empty clearing, and to the larks watching them from a nearby branch. "Elsa, this was...amazing. _You're_ amazing. You've been working so hard." She met Elsa's eyes. "Are you...done, now, with this? What do you have left to do?"

Elsa blinked. She had never thought that she would ever actually be "done." And as long as frost leaked unwillingly from her fingertips, as long as blizzards formed at her fear and ice spiked at her anger, she would never be "done."

"I need to…" She worried her fingers. "I need to control my emotions better. That's when everything goes wrong."

"Everyone gets emotional though. It's normal," Jonne said, scratching at her chin. The ridiculous lark was beginning to annoy Elsa, and she shooed it away. "Most people just yell, but it's the same thing."

"You're not going to hurt someone just by yelling at them," Elsa pointed out.

Jonne sent her a disbelieving look. "You've never been yelled at properly then." She sighed and stretched. "Well, I know you'll figure it out. You always seem to."

"Yeah," Elsa said, but she felt a bit uncomfortable. Jonne was right; people couldn't just turn off their emotions when it suited them. So what was she left to do?

Well. She'd made it this far, hadn't she? She'd come up with...something.

"Do you think this is alright to camp in?" Jonne was asking, looking around once again.

"Actually," she said tentatively, and Jonne gave her full attention, "I think I'd like to head out, at least a little further." The village was behind them, but not so far that they couldn't be found. And Elsa thought she would feel better if it were just her and Jonne again. When she didn't have to worry at all, and had room to just think.

"Sure," Jonne said easily, already reaching for their knapsacks. She tried unsuccessfully to hide a yawn.

"I'm sorry," Elsa said. "Are you tired?"

Jonne waved a dismissive hand. "Nah. I can go all night." Then she wiggled her eyebrows vigorously, face plastered with a lecherous and utterly ridiculous grin.

"Oh my God, stop," Elsa said, shoving a hand into Jonne's face. She made sure the hand was full of snow, and Jonne sputtered and staggered back.

"One day," Jonne said, wiping at her face. Then she reconsidered and changed it to, "One _night_…"

"No," Elsa said, but she was laughing.

On the trail that lead them away from the small village, she left her latest sculpture: a small family of rabbits creeping beneath a boulder, and a fox standing astride it watching them.

* * *

Anna pedaled aimlessly around the courtyard. The gears on her new bicycle were perfectly oiled and smooth, and the wheels turned almost effortlessly. It was a special gift, not just because of its fine quality, but because it was her first ever replacement for a bike she had outgrown, as opposed one she had smashed to pieces. Her old bike was still almost completely ridable! She had considered giving it to Kristoff, until she realized that his rapidly growing frame would dwarf it. She knew well enough he wouldn't accept a new one, even though she thought it would be a lot of fun to ride around together.

It was fine; he had Sven anyway. Although both of them were out now, at market. Market days weren't as hard or as long as the days they had to spend on the ice, and with any luck they would be back before the last of the daylight faded. Anna was of the opinion that Kristoff worked entirely too much when he should be home playing with her. Of course, she thought she worked too much too, no matter how Kristoff insisted lessons weren't the same thing as real work. He only said that because he'd never had to sit through one.

But today her (uncharacteristic) patience was rewarded. Kristoff and Sven trudged through the gate, towing an empty sled. A good day for everyone then!

"Kristoff!" She pumped hard on the pedals, then coasted around them in a wide circle. "I got a new bike!"

His eyes followed her path, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion, as if he couldn't tell this bike from the old one. After a moment he shrugged and said, "Congratulations. Did you wreck the other one?"

"No!" she crowed, coming to a stop. He smirked at that, and continued on towards the shed. "Hurry up," she instructed, "I want to play before the sun goes down."

He groaned. "Anna—"

"Don't 'Anna' me—"

"—we've been at the market all day, and we kinda just want to go relax. Right Sven?" He changed his voice and, on behalf of Sven, said, "'_That's right, it's been a long day_.'"

She made a face. "You're so weird. I can't wait until you stop doing that." Then she awkwardly walked her bike even with them and whined, "You can relax while we _play_." He did look tired, and she felt a little bad about that, but…

It was just that she had more responsibilities now, and so did he, so they should play together whenever they got the chance, shouldn't they? While they could.

"It'll be Sunday soon," he said, nudging Sven forward. "We can—"

"Yes!" she interrupted. "It'll be Sunday soon, and you can relax on Sunday. I mean you have to anyway, so it works out."

He sighed, but she could tell his 'just leave me alone' sigh from his 'I'm giving in but don't want to admit it' sigh, and this was definitely the latter. She scooted a bit further ahead and said, "Sven wants to race me on my new bike, don't you Sven?" Sven snuffed at her hair.

At the word "race" Kristoff eye's sharpened with interest. He exchanged a look with Sven, a smile fighting its way across his features. Hoping to seal the deal, Anna pitched her voice low and rough and said, "'_Anna's right, we should play with her_.'"

Now Kristoff just looked horrified. He pressed a hand to his chest. "We are both incredibly offended right now. Never do that again."

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "So I can't do your stupid reindeer voice. Are you coming or not?"

He thumped his hand against Sven's flank and said, "Give us five minutes to unload."

Anna grinned. Victory!

—

"First to the end of the street wins."

Kristoff squinted as he looked down the road. "If you smack into that house at the end there, I don't care if you win or not, I'm gonna laugh at you so hard."

"I'm not gonna crash!" She stroked her brand new bike possessively. There were still some people out and wandering around, but not so many as to impede their race, she didn't think. And this road was just the best for bicycling, so it would be fine.

"Okay," she said, "since I'm on a bike I get a headstart. So you'll count to—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Kristoff said, shaking his hands. "I don't think so. This is a race. You don't get to cheat."

"I'm not cheating!" she insisted. "It's just not fair! It's going to take me a little while to get up to speed."

"It takes Sven a while too!"

"Oh, like two steps." She jabbed a finger towards Sven. "His legs are way longer than mine!"

Kristoff smirked like the insufferable prat he could be sometimes. "Sounds like your problem, not ours," he said, leaning casually against a nearby building.

Anna huffed. "Okay," she said, thinking quickly and pointing at a doorway twenty feet or so behind them. "How about this? I'll start back there—that'll give me a few feet to start pedaling, and then when I reach you guys you can start running, and that way we'll be going about the same speed."

For a few seconds sense and pride warred across Kristoff's face. Apparently pride won out, because he nodded and said, "Fine. But I get to say 'go,' and you don't go until I say so, got it?"

"Sure, sure," she said with dismissive wave. A moment later they were both in position.

"Ready?" Kristoff called.

"Ready!"

He drew in a deep breath, and Anna tensed. Then he blew it out without saying a thing at all, and she almost pitched forward with thwarted effort. "No cheating!" he called with a laugh as she struggled to right herself.

"You—!"

"GO!"

"AH!" For the first step she couldn't find the pedal, but within a turn she was square again and stood to drive the pedals down with all her might.

She zoomed past Kristoff almost instantly and heard him squawk. There were hoofbeats behind her, but the wind was in her hair and momentum on her side. "You tricked us!" Kristoff yelled, and she laughed.

For the next several seconds all she could hear was the bicycle wheels rattling and flying across the stone. She was just about to shout something back to Kristoff when she heard a crash, a bleat, and a cry.

She whipped her head around. Sven had caught one of his legs on a display of vegetables, sending carrots and cabbage soaring through the air, and as she watched he and Kristoff stumbled and lurched to the ground.

Before she could react, before she could cry out, her handlebars were suddenly shuddering violently beneath her hands. She had accidentally turned them with her head, and now the bike was skittering unevenly across the stone, and tipping, tipping—

She hit the ground hard. There was a sharp jab of metal in her abdomen, but then it was gone and she was rolling and skidding, the pavement scraping her raw. When she slowed to a stop several seconds later, it was with the breath knocked out of her lungs and her arms and knees burning and sore.

There were shouts of alarm, hands helping her up almost instantly. She wanted to wave them away, at least until she could catch her breath, but she was pulled back on her feet within seconds. She found much to her surprise that her aching legs could, in fact, support her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she gasped, swatting with absolutely no strength behind it. She forced herself forward, to where Kristoff was worriedly helping Sven stand again.

"Are you okay?" she asked. She had by now noticed the ringing in her ears, the stinging on her cheek and palms, but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

Kristoff nodded roughly, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking around them, his eyes darting nervously. Anna looked too, and saw a street much more crowded than it had been only a few minutes ago, produce strewn everywhere, and an incredibly angry looking merchant. "Oh no," she said, and then saw the guards approaching them.

"Oh _no_."

—

Anna and Kristoff stood as one in the king's study, heads bowed and posture contrite. The king had paced in front of them as he lectured about responsibility and recklessness and discipline. Now he took a seat and sighed heavily. He steepled his fingers and tapped them thoughtfully to his lips. Anna cringed. Was he thinking up their punishment now?

To Kristoff, he said, "You damaged that merchant's products. You compromised his livelihood. I know you know the importance of an honest man's work."

Kristoff's neck was red, and he hunched even further in on himself. "I'll pay for the stuff I ruined," he mumbled. "If I don't have enough I'll work it off."

A sense of injustice flared in Anna—it had been her idea, after all, and she had cajoled Kristoff into it. But she was too timid in front of her father's anger to say so. The answer seemed to satisfy him at least, and he nodded, confirming the contract. "Now," he said, "please leave me alone with my daughter."

It was just about the most terrifying thing he could have said, and Kristoff met Anna's eyes as he left, but too briefly for her to read what was in them. With Kristoff gone the room fell into an oppressive silence. Anna curled her toes in her shoes, flexed her hands and immediately regretted it for the fresh stinging it caused. Her father was just looking at her silently, and she thought she would prefer to be yelled at.

"Papa," she said when she couldn't take it anymore, "it wasn't Kristoff's fault. I'm the one who wanted to race and picked that street."

For just a moment her father showed a sardonic smile. "I have noticed that it's never Kristoff's fault."

"Well…" She was at a loss. "It's not though."

"I know," he said, uncrossing his legs and relaxing just a bit into his chair. "I notice more than you think I do. He's a responsible, hard working young man." He rubbed at his eyes, and when he looked at Anna again he wasn't angry, exactly, but looked serious enough that she was nervous all the same. "I've often wished that he would rub off on you more than you rub off on him. And yet you both still end up in these situations. He indulges you entirely too much."

"Um…"

"Anna." He leaned forward now, and Anna found herself wanting to bow just slightly back to compensate. "You're growing up. You can't keep playing these childish games. You need to begin taking responsibility."

Responsibility? Did he want her to pay the merchant too? "Uh, r-responsibility for what?" she asked meekly.

"For the kingdom," he said, leaning back and not seeming to realize that his words had hit Anna like a punch to the gut, sending her reeling. "You're going to be queen one day, and—"

"No I'm not!" she blurted. The words seemed to shock them both into temporary silence. Her father looked merely confused, but Anna suddenly felt like she was drowning under a sea of duties that she never wanted, never expected. Duties that weren't meant for her. She could suddenly see back through the years, all the ways they had been preparing her. Ways that should have been obvious at the time, but _weren't_, and now the realization was hitting her all at once. It made her frightened, desperate, and it was that desperation that guided her next words.

"Anna—"

"Elsa's supposed to be queen!" she cried, and if her previous outburst had stopped the conversation, this one froze it solid. Her father's face was one of blank shock, and her own felt cold and faint. They didn't talk about Elsa; she wasn't sure exactly when they had stopped, but they just _didn't_, and now neither of them knew what to say.

Oh, God, when was the last time she had even _thought_ of Elsa?

Her father didn't look like he would recover anytime soon, so she gathered her courage. "Papa," she said, her voice pleading, "if...if I'm going to be queen, that means Elsa isn't coming back, right? But-but we don't know that!" Because that was it. That was the fear. She didn't want to hear what her father was trying to tell her. Had purposely spent years actively avoiding the possibility. She couldn't stand to have the hope she had been clinging to in the very back of her mind torn away now.

When she was young, when she had really begun to understand that Elsa was lost and that they couldn't find her, she had been devastated. Then one day she had been reading an adventure story about a man on a island, and realized that being lost didn't mean someone would never be found. Elsa had been lost in the mountains, so she read all the books she could about people who lived in the mountains, people who learned to take care of themselves, people who got lost and were eventually found. The stories had given her hope, and she would share them with her parents at the dinner table, intending to give them the same hope.

It hadn't worked. Her mother's face had become more drawn with every story, her father more stern, and finally he had taken her aside and said that she should read all the books she liked, but that topic was not for dinner conversation.

That was where it began, she now recognized, one of a series of rapid-fire connections setting her mind aflame. When they had stopped talking as much. Over the years talk about Elsa had slowly faded completely, and her pictures had all but disappeared from the walls, and the hope Anna used to chase had been buried by the mere fact of time.

Buried, but never quite dead. But watching her father now, as he scrubbed at his face and stood to pace in quick, sharp lines across the study, she realized that his own hope and almost certainly died long ago. That idea frightened her, a cold, bone-deep fear, because he was her _father_. Strong, knowledgeable, and sure. If he had no more hope, then…

She couldn't stand the thought, and as it often did when she was panicked, her mouth ran away from her. "I know it's been a long time—"

"You don't—" her father bit off.

"—but it's never too late, right?"

"That's not—"

"She could be _fine_, we don't know, she's just lost—"

"Anna—"

"You're still looking, aren't you? We could—"

"_Enough_, Anna," he snapped, with enough force that she fell silent. His face was dark, but she saw now that it was grief, and not anger, that clouded his features. Almost immediately his expression relaxed into a bereaved weariness. She was trembling and still sore, and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around her.

"We'll never stop hoping for Elsa's return," he said, and a small part of Anna thought _liar_. "But it is...difficult, to talk about."

"Then what do we do?" she asked, voice weak.

He ran a gentle hand over her hair. "You can pray for her. Pray for her to come back to us."

It wasn't any kind of answer at all, and Anna felt unsettled well after he had dismissed her to clean up and take care of her wounds.

—

Dinner was strange and stilted. Her parents had been talking when she entered the dining room, in low hushed tones that fell silent as soon as she appeared. Her father looked collected once again, and her mother gave her a reassuring smile. During dinner the two of them discussed an upcoming delegation party while she ate as quickly and quietly as she could, and excused herself as the earliest possible moment.

That night she tossed and turned. Her thoughts were still agitated, and most of her body ached, making the mere act of lying down an exercise in discomfort.

There was a soft knock on her door, and her mother entered the room. "Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey," Anna replied, surprised and just a bit nervous.

Her mother walked over to the bed, taking a seat near the pillows and carefully lifting Anna's wounded hands to study the bandages there. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Sore," Anna said, and bit her lip. "I'm sorry I messed up my bicycle."

Her mother lowered their joined hands and gave her an indulgent smile. "The bicycle doesn't matter," she said, "but you could have been badly hurt."

"I know," Anna said quietly. "I promise, I'll be more careful. Um. More responsible."

Her mother smoothed the bangs from her face and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I know you will, darling," she said, and then smiled. "But all the same, I don't think you'll be getting a new one for a while."

"Oh," Anna said, rolling her eyes at herself, "I don't even want to think about riding a bike right now, so…"

She trailed off into a comfortable silence. Her mother's fingers were stroking her hair soothingly, and it felt nice. Felt like when she was small and a kiss and a kind word really were all she needed to lift her spirits.

They weren't enough anymore. Anna watched her mother's eyes flit away and settle on the opposite wall. She couldn't see it from this angle, but she knew exactly where her mother was looking. It was a large portrait, hanging where Elsa's bed used to be—a family portrait, all four of them. Once it had hung in the great hall, but it had disappeared like almost all the others. She and Kristoff had found it in a storage room during a game of hide and seek, and she had begged her mother for it. What had it cost her to give in, and appease her youngest daughter? Had the request hurt, or did her mother, at least, still have some small amount of hope?

Anna didn't want to be the one that hurt her. And, perhaps selfishly, she didn't know to know if her mother had given up as well. It might only be ignorance that drove her own faith, but for just right now, she wanted to cling to that ignorance.

Her mother finally looked away; looked back at Anna. Were her eyes wet? Was her smile fond, or only sad? Anna wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked, winding her fingers through Anna's hair again.

_Stay here with me. Stay until I'm asleep. Tell me Papa's wrong, tell me Elsa's coming home, tell me our family will be okay and that it's not too late._

She didn't trust her own tongue. So she said, "I'll be fine," and snuggled deeper into the blankets.

Her mother left her with another kiss and an, "I love you." When the door closed Anna rolled over, slowly and carefully, and tried to get to sleep.

Sleep was a long time in coming. She couldn't get settled in her own bed, and every time her eyes fluttered opened they were turned directly towards the family portrait. She saw herself happy, her mother content, her father proud, and Elsa...Elsa, who was alway so caring, Elsa looking demure and shy, but Elsa _there_.

She finally gave up on the idea of sleep and slipped on her shoes and her robe. It was much too late for activity, and she didn't see a soul as she crept out of the castle.

At Kristoff's door she hesitated. It was so late, and she had already gotten him into such trouble today.

But if her father was right about one thing, it was that Kristoff indulged Anna. She knocked, softly, not wanting to startle him. "Kristoff?" she called, and opened the door.

He was just beginning to stir. When his sleepy eyes met hers he grunted and rolled away. She knelt near his bed.

"Kristoff," she started, but didn't know how to finish. She wasn't even sure why she was here.

"Haven't you gotten me in enough trouble?" he asked. He was on his stomach, and shifted so that he was looking at her. "You're not supposed to be in my room, especially not at night."

"I know," she said. "But I just...don't want to be alone right now."

"What?"

"Will you go to the chapel with me?"

He closed his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. "Why in the world do you want to go to church in the middle of the night?"

She wrung her hands. "I want to pray."

He grunted again and flopped back so that he was facing away from her. But after a few seconds he sighed and pushed himself up. "Fine. Give me my boots."

She felt a rush of affection for him, which wasn't even tempered by the fact that his boots were covered in foul smelling mud. It took him a few tries to sleepily pull them on, but once he had he stretched, patted Sven on the nose—"Stay here, buddy."—and followed her towards the castle.

The chapel was always unlocked. Apparently, as Anna was learning, crises of faith could happen at any hour. Kristoff settled into the second row with a yawn as she lit a candle.

When she was young, she had spent years praying for Elsa to come home with no reply. She couldn't bear to ask again, not with the knowledge that it would almost certainly go unanswered. So she sat in the front row, near Kristoff, clasped her hands, and prayed, "Please keep Elsa safe until she can come home."

Behind her Kristoff drew in a careful breath. When she didn't say anything else, he gently added, "Amen." Anna let her head tip back against the hard pew. Tears were stinging in her eyes, but not enough to fall.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," she whispered, her voice half broken.

Kristoff shuffled closer and put his hand on her shoulder. "It's alright." He sat with her until she felt she had the strength to stand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ten years apart**

* * *

Here was a simple fact: Elsa was magic, and Jonne was not.

Here was another: Elsa was clever and careful, and Jonne was somewhat dull and reckless.

Here was a third: For both of those, at the end of the day it was Jonne who was the more practical of the two. Elsa, in contrast, was _principled_.

It was practicality, for example, that led Jonne to break into a locked storeroom in the middle of the night. It was principle that made Elsa insist they only take what they need, even when so much more was available.

It was practicality that brought them to the north, where Elsa could practice her powers much of the year without drawing undue attention. It was principle that had brought them further, up into a bitterly cold mountain regularly beset by storms.

This particular range was well feared among the local villages, because something in the shape of its peaks or the path wind took down its slopes generated terrible snowstorms. Just the day before they had arrived in the small village of Jokikylä, a young boy had been lost in the mountains. Search parties were being organized, and Elsa, for whom the cold meant nothing, had thought they ought to help look.

See? Principle.

They hadn't been the ones to find him, thank Heavens, because by the time anyone did it was far too late. After that the search parties had headed back, but Elsa seemed enamored of the mountain for some reason, and they had so far spent three days wandering its slopes.

The weather was difficult even when it wasn't storming, so Jonne trudged along behind Elsa. Elsa was unencumbered by thick winter clothes, which made the walking easier, and just now she had managed to pull a bit ahead. Jonne kept her in sight but made no real effort to keep up.

She didn't know quite why they were up here, but then she didn't really know much about Elsa's thought process at all. It was too quick for her, thinking of things she could scarcely understand and adjusting accordingly. Maybe if she had to think her way around magic all the time she'd be clever too, but as it was she was happy to get all the fun of watching it and none of the trouble of managing it.

A couple years ago, when Elsa had created her frost forest and taken Jonne's breath away, she had asked, "What do we do next?" What Elsa didn't seem to realize was that she hadn't meant anything in particular by the question, since that would require more thought than she liked to give the things she said. She had only been genuinely curious as to what could be left. But Elsa had taken it to heart all the same and somehow, impossibly, seemed to be working harder than ever.

For a few years, after Elsa had finally stopped trying to hide her powers, they had been able to pretend they didn't have a care in the world, and it had been some of the most fun in Jonne's life. But Elsa couldn't not care for long, as she might have known, and had decided she ought to find some way to keep her emotions from whipping ice through the air when she didn't mean for them to. Smart as Elsa was, this had always seemed to Jonne like one of her sillier ideas. The world was a better place with magic in it, surely, and she didn't see the point of trying to make less of it.

She understood Elsa's wanting to control her powers so that she could rely on them. That only made sense. What she couldn't understand was the urge to stifle them for the benefit of other people, even more so the kind of people who would enrage or frighten her. People like that deserved what would happen to them, and it should not be Elsa's responsibility to keep from hurting those who would hurt her.

If Elsa summoned ice when she was angry, then people ought not anger her. If she was dangerous when she was scared, people ought not give her a reason to fear. It was only fair and right. Most people were not strong; most people were not powerful. So they had to learn to mind themselves around those who were.

'Course, thoughts like that were probably why God hadn't seen it fit to bless Jonne with magic of her own.

But she had always followed where Elsa led up 'til now, and she was happy enough to keep doing it, even if the following wasn't always easy. See, the biggest problem with Elsa wanting to control her powers when she was upset was that it meant she had to let herself get upset, or else how would she know whether it was working? Gone were the days were the surest way to deal with any trouble they had was to ignore it and play some new game. Now, Elsa focused on those troubles, learning her way around them. It was for the best, probably, but awful to have to watch.

Jonne didn't like seeing Elsa upset; she never had, not since that first night, when she had dried Elsa's tears and promised to take care of her. More than that: Keeping Elsa happy was her most proficient skill. She was disgruntled at being asked to put it away and stand aside to watch Elsa cry and fall.

And yet...terrible as the falling was, watching Elsa pick herself up time and time again filled her with a pride she could scarcely articulate. There was no problem they had yet encountered that Elsa couldn't figure out, and Jonne was glad for the chance to see the solving.

She was even more glad to get to see the bits of magic that were simply marvelous and fun. Elsa had eventually made a whole flock of larks, nearly a dozen in all, and a pack of wolves just to see if she could. The larks were Elsa's darlings, which suited Jonne fine—they had seemed stunning at first, but had since developed a knack for flying right at her face, and it felt like getting hit with a wet snowball every time. But the wolves were hers, and helped with the hunting and the hauling. It reminded her of when she was a child, and would surround herself with the animals of the forest just to show off that she could catch them.

She whistled now, and the wolves, four of them, trotted from their exploration of the trees to follow her footsteps, which were starting to become labored with fatigue. It was hard work climbing a mountain, and there was scant rest to be found in its craggy peaks.

"Found anything worth seeing, eh?" she asked the wolves. "Found our dinner yet?" The leader, Snowy, tilted its head at her. She had named the others Icy, Frosty, and Chilly, but honestly couldn't tell them apart. It didn't seem to much matter; they usually came no matter what names she called.

"Should we camp out here?" Elsa asked. She had stopped walking before Jonne had, and was close enough now to speak with. The snow was coming down harder, and while it wasn't a proper storm yet, it was getting uncomfortable all the same.

"If we can find a place that'll take a fire, I'd rather do that, honest," Jonne said as she drew alongside. Convenient as it was to have an ice shelter anytime they liked, lighting a fire inside always made it drip everywhere, and Jonne knew well enough that she'd need a fire if they were to stay up here. "Think there's a cave near someplace?"

There was, in fact. It stretched deep into the mountain, though they didn't stray far from the entrance just yet. There were deep cracks and crevasses bringing in fresh air and carrying out the smoke from their fire, so Elsa iced the entrance completely to keep out the wind. Outside the weather raged, but inside they were quite warm and comfortable, and Jonne felt smug for it. This mountain might kill others, but Elsa could block the storm with a wave of her hand. Jonne warmed some meat, and the wolves curled into a pile in the back of the cave, looking for all the world like a simple snow drift. The larks were still out somewhere nesting amongst the tree, and Jonne was glad to have them gone. Elsa laid out their blankets and bedrolls and then began building delicate frost structures that danced between her fingers, forming and growing and splitting and breaking, over and over again.

There wasn't much to do after the eating, and the hiking had been hard, so they went to bed even though the sun was high. At the feel of Elsa in her arms Jonne briefly thought she might not be so tired after all, but that was a lie; she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She awoke before Elsa, which is how it had always been. As attentive as she was during her waking hours, Elsa always slept as though she had been stupored by wine. She didn't stir as Jonne pulled on her boots and coat, and stoked the dying fire.

It was proper dark out now, though she couldn't see too much beyond the ice wall. She had never been one for idle relaxation though, so once the fire was tended she lit her lantern, slapped Snowy on the rump, and headed deeper into the cave.

The path was fairly wide and canted upwards, sometimes steeply. Snowy ran ahead, sniffed, circled back around, bumped its head into her hand, and raced forward again.

Eventually the path opened into a fairly sizeable cavern, closed in except for a sharp cliff shooting upwards. There was a space between the top of the cliff and the ceiling, letting in a faint light and trace amounts of snow. Jonne studied its craggy face, ran her hands along the stone, and decided she could climb it with some rope and a pick. But she had neither, and had been gone long enough besides.

Elsa was just beginning to stir when she returned, so she put on a kettle for coffee and set about darning her extra trousers while Elsa slowly roused herself and fumbled through her bag for a comb. She finished the trousers and the coffee about the same time Elsa finished braiding her hair and looping it into a low bun.

"We've messed our schedule up now," Elsa said, looking out the ice wall at the night sky.

"Good thing we didn't have one then," Jonne said, and handed her a mug.

Elsa took a deep sip and hummed in satisfaction. "Do you think we should start heading down? Or we can wait until it's light. But we should find somewhere to stay."

"Let's try heading up a bit first," Jonne said, jerking her head towards the back of the cave. Elsa looked curious, so in short order they were in the cavern, standing at the base of the cliff again.

"I think I can climb it." She knocked her palm against the stone, feeling out places for grips and toeholds, and thumbed the pick hooked at her waist.

"I think you'll crack your head open," Elsa countered, and with a wave of her hand created a staircase of ice along the cavern wall. Jonne grinned. Magic was always better than not.

There was a further path in the top part of the cavern, narrowing slightly before leading into a large cave that opened to a snowy field.

"Here, how high do you think we are now?" Jonne asked, tromping out into the field and looking around. "That was an easy way to go about, wasn't it? Wonder if anyone else ever found that trick!"

"It wouldn't be much of a trick if they had to climb that cliff the normal way," Elsa said, but she looked excited too. This was a special place.

The aurora was brilliant tonight, and Elsa watched it as she drew alongside Jonne. There were certain things, Jonne knew, that had meaning to Elsa from the time before, when she had been a princess and lived in a palace. The fine care she took of her hair, no matter how dirty the rest of them were; how her back firmed and shoulders straightened when she meant to be taken seriously; her quick mind and thoughtful way of speaking. Even her principles must have come from that palace, since they certainly hadn't come from her time with the robbers.

But nothing seemed to mean as much to Elsa as the aurora. Jonne didn't know quite why, and she didn't care to ask. There were some parts of herself that Elsa kept quiet and secret, and Jonne didn't begrudge her for it a bit. Anything she wanted to share she did; anything she didn't wasn't Jonne's business after all.

"I want to try something," she said then, with a look in her eyes that meant, _and it may go badly_. Oftentimes that look meant that Elsa would be overwhelmed, and Jonne would have to spend the night waiting for an extremely localized blizzard to dissipate.

But it meant that less and less these days, as Elsa somehow managed to become even more skilled at her magic. So Jonne nodded firmly and said, "Where do you want me?"

"Close," Elsa said, with a look that Jonne thought was disproportionately grateful. "You don't have to leave, but just be careful?"

Jonne nodded again, and Elsa stepped back and lifted her hands, arms tense as though they held a great weight. Around them walls suddenly began to rise, forming an enormous room with a sharply sloped ceiling. Thick column sprouted on either side, supporting a walkway that led to a small balcony. There were even two huge doors in the front, and a series of thin ice windows along the back.

Jonne spun around, taking it all in. This wasn't just a room, it was a specific room, but not one she thought she had ever seen. Elsa seemed almost to have forgotten her presence as she waved her hands, gathering snow around the base of the columns, making a tall pile shaped almost like a slide, and even conjuring a small, rather disfigured snowman with some sticks and stones that had been caught inside when the walls appeared.

It was all very deliberate, and as she watched Elsa drew in a deep breath, and then began casting more snow, first in a small pile, then a slightly larger one next to it, and on in a semicircle around her as the piles of snow became progressively taller.

There was something almost frantic in her movements, and Jonne found herself holding her breath, only let it out in a deep _whoosh_ when Elsa suddenly froze, hands still outstretched and trembling.

She waited, but there was no storm, no ice. Only Elsa, her chest heaving and her face strained and her eyes unfocused. Whatever ritual she had been enacting seemed at an end.

Most of the dark things Elsa had been thinking on to pull out her bleakest emotions and her worst ice were, Jonne knew, memories. Memories of things she was frightened of, memories of people that hurt her. That had to be what she was doing now, but damned if Jonne could make heads or tails of exactly what was going on.

"Are you alright?" she asked when she couldn't stand it a second longer. Elsa started, shook herself, and finally seemed to remember Jonne was there.

"I'm alright," she said, her voice...thoughtful? Confused? "I'm fine."

"Right. Well. Good," Jonne said. This atmosphere was too heavy for her, and it didn't seem like Elsa had anything left to do, so she abandoned being respectful and jerked her head towards the funny looking little snowman. "Want to tell me what's going on with this here? I know you're better with snow than that."

That seemed to dispel the last of whatever odd mood Elsa had gotten herself into, and she walked over to where Jonne stood near the snowman. "What do you mean? What's wrong with him?"

Jonne's eyes widened, and she gestured again. "Have you _seen_ him?"

Elsa glanced briefly at the snowman, but mostly kept her eyes trained on Jonne, her eyebrows knotted in fond exasperation. "He's just like one I made when I was a kid. He's _supposed_ to look like that."

"Ah," Jonne said. She clapped Elsa on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you've gotten much better since then."

Elsa jabbed at her side, and she laughed. Then Elsa opened her mouth to defend herself once more, and someone who was _not_ Elsa said, "I think you did a great job!"

Elsa shrieked, and Jonne whipped her knife from its sheath at her belt. They both stumbled several steps backwards and stared at the snowman, who was standing in a distinctly different position than before.

Everything was still for a moment, then the snowman looked between them, waved his arm, and said, "Hello!"

They both darted back a step more. Jonne, however, almost immediately moved forward again, still holding the knife in front of her but with a wide smile beginning to spread across her face. "Hello," she said, and the snowman gasped in delight.

"I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs!" he cried, spreading his arms in invitation. Jonne didn't take it, but she did crouch down for a closer look.

"Olaf?" Elsa asked, and they both looked back at her. She looked about as flabbergasted as she would if the archangel Michael himself had decided to pay them a visit. "You...you're Olaf."

"Yeah!" The snowman, Olaf, walked up closer to Elsa, bringing him even with Jonne. Olaf looked to be waiting for something, but Elsa didn't seem quite able to speak anymore. Curious, Jonne twirled her knife in her hand, then pressed it firmly into Olaf's side, where it disappeared up to the hilt.

"_Jonne!_" Elsa cried, shocked into action. She grabbed Jonne's wrist and yanked it away, and the knife with it.

"Oh no, that's alright!" Olaf said, turning to face Jonne more fully. "It doesn't hurt or anything. Do you want to do it again?"

Her face lit up at that, but Elsa squeezed her wrist hard enough to hurt, so instead she simply stood up. "Maybe later," she said, and grinned at the annoyance that flashed across Elsa's face.

"So your name's Jonne?" Olaf asked. "I like that name! And this house, wow!" He spun around, gasping in wonder, and Jonne immediately decided she liked him. "Do you guys live out here?"

"Not...not exactly," Elsa said, and leaned down. "Olaf." He gave her his full attention. "Um." Her hands were fisting in her skirt at the knees, and Jonne was now almost entirely amused. "I-I'm Elsa."

"Oh, I know that," he said, and she stood up straight.

"You do?"

"Of course I do! You made me!" He clutched his little stick hands together, looking for all the world like a besotted schoolboy, and Jonne had to fight not to laugh.

"You made him, Elsa," she echoed, almost choking on the giggles. She wasn't even sure what was so funny, but it might have been Olaf's earnest manner or his stubby snowball legs or just the odd lopsidedness of his face.

"I didn't mean to!" Elsa whispered fiercely, as though that made any difference with the three of them as close as they were.

"That's what you do, isn't it? You make things out of snow and they come alive."

"Real things," Elsa said, sounding agitated. "Birds and wolves. Snowmen aren't real."

"I _feel_ real," Olaf said then, feeling along his tightly packed torso. There was a note of sadness in his voice now, and Elsa immediately knelt down to his level.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." She reached out and carefully laid a hand against his face. "I'm, I'm just surprised." She paused for a moment to take him in, and said, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Here," Jonne said, crouching down with them. "If snowmen weren't real before, they are now, aren't they?" Elsa shot her a grateful smile, and Olaf looked delighted.

They took him along a little tour of the room Elsa had created, not that there was much to see. Outside the wind was kicking up again, and Jonne volunteered to head back for their supplies if Elsa and Olaf gathered fresh firewood.

It occurred to her on the way down that she ought to get Elsa to make an ice slide next to the stairs. It occurred to her on the way back that if there was an ice slide, she could drag their supplies up it, instead of having to haul them on her back. The journey to the entrance was longer than she remembered, the journey back longer still, and it had probably been a good hour before she was finally able to dump their bags near a newly built fire.

The fire was warm and inviting, but the cave itself was empty of woman or snowman, and at its entrance was a new set of ice stairs. Her curiosity overcame her comfort, and Jonne took the stairs to find a whole house made out of ice, with rooms and doorways and even another staircase leading to a second floor. There were also snow larks flying around, because of course they had been able to find Elsa. They always could. Jonne made a face and hoped none of them flew at her.

Elsa appeared from one of the rooms, and Jonne jerked her head upwards. "You've been busy."

"Olaf wanted to see more ice buildings," Elsa said, walking over. "How are you?"

"Freezing."

"I'll say." She felt along Jonne's cheeks and nose, then pulled her down and began unlacing her boots. "You need to tell me if you get too cold."

"I would if I were," Jonne said, and groaned when Elsa lifted her shirt to press Jonne's icy feet against her stomach. "You're so _warm_."

"I know that's a lie." Elsa reached out to tug off Jonne's gloves.

"Comparatively speaking, I mean." With her boots and gloves gone, she shuffled forward to wrap both legs and arms around Elsa, snaking her cold hands beneath Elsa's blouse to press them between her shoulder blades. Elsa's breath caught, and she buried her face in the nape of Elsa's neck, biting lightly.

"Hey! What are you guys doing?"

Jonne withdrew, sighing in frustration. Elsa laughed and gently pushed her away. "Nothing, Olaf. _You_," she said to Jonne, "need to be near the fire."

"Alright," Jonne said, and Elsa reached for her boots. She ignored them, and quickly scrambled down the stairs.

"Don't run barefoot on the ice!" Elsa yelled, chasing after her. She dove in front of the fire before Elsa could catch and scold her, and Olaf eagerly joined her.

"Isn't the fire amazing?" he asked, stretching his arms out towards it as if they could be warmed. "It's so _bright_, and _hot_…"

"It's about the best thing on days like this," Jonne said, "but should you be so close?" Then she grinned. "Hey, you have a nose now!"

"I do! Elsa got it for me! Isn't it just perfect?" He toyed with the carrot nose, which was good, since it was about to slide off his melting face. "I mean I really felt like I was missing something, you know, and—"

"Olaf," Elsa called, sounding like a worried parent, and he trotted over to her. Jonne laughed and warmed herself with the fire.

The wolves appeared from the lower part of the cave. One of them—Chilly, Jonne decided—had a fat rabbit hanging from its jaws.

"Good dog!" she cried, then glanced over her shoulder at Elsa. "Here, I'll clean it if you cook it."

"Do you want to learn how to make stew, Olaf?" Elsa asked.

"Of course I do!" He made for the fire again, but Elsa caught his arm and set him chopping vegetables instead. Jonne finally put on her boots and went to skin their supper.

During supper they introduced Olaf to the wolves and told him what they knew about the mountain. He was happy to play with the hounds, saddened to learn the larks had no names of their own, and thrilled all over again when Elsa said he could name them if he liked. He did, and chose things like Sunflower, Petunia, Lily, and Marigold. Like the other snow beasts he had no need of sleep, and as night fell he seemed content to pass the evening using his arms in games of fetch and exploring the mountainside. Elsa looked rather more reluctant to let him go than Jonne thought she ought, but he promised to be back by morning's light.

"It's not like he's going to be hurt," Jonne said when the cave was empty of snow creatures. Strange, now, how quiet it sounded, when this evening was exactly like every that had come before it.

"He could get lost," Elsa said, "or be seen." She was sitting on the bedrolls and combing out her hair again. She looked thoughtful, and Jonne wondered if she found it quiet as well.

"Anyone up high enough to see them likely won't make it back down."

Elsa's lips pursed at that, but it wasn't anything but true. Jonne sighed, put aside her whetstone and her knife, and leaned back against the cave wall. For some reason she thought she was about to start chuckling again. She bit her lip, gave up and said, "His name is Olaf. He likes warm hugs."

Elsa threw her an exasperated look, but it was too late. She was giggling, a small, trembling laugh that made no sound but sent her body shaking. "Why the devil did you make a snowman that liked warm hugs?" she said when she was able. "Seems cruel to me."

"Everyone likes warm hugs," Elsa said. She still looked only pensive, and it was enough to sober Jonne just a bit. "I gave him that name when I was a child," she said finally. "I called him Olaf, and decided he liked warm hugs. And he remembered that."

"He remembered you," Jonne said, although she wasn't sure it was quite like remembering. It seemed more like just knowing. "And he knows about different kinds of beasts, and the names of summer flowers."

"Not much about heat though," Elsa said with a sigh. "We'll have to teach him."

"Hm." Jonne thought for a while. "I wonder if you could do it for others. If you made a snow Jonne, would she know how to lay a trap, or remember the castle?"

"I don't think we should," Elsa said quickly, looking just a touch nervous.

"No," Jonne said, and Elsa relaxed. "That would be strange." But Elsa could do it if she wanted. Jonne knew she could. There was nothing Elsa couldn't do with her snow.

She clambered onto the bedrolls, wriggling under the blankets. Elsa laid down as well, and immediately turned to bury her face in Jonne's neck, clutching her tightly. It was more desperate than intimate, and Jonne fumbled for a moment, then ran her hands soothingly down Elsa's back.

After a few moments Elsa said, "I made him for Anna. Back then. I made him to make her laugh."

Ah. That explained quite a lot, his lopsided face especially. How long had Elsa been holding that in, fighting through the memories to remain calm? Jonne would have to praise her control, but not now; now, the moment felt so fragile that it felt even to mention it would cause it to break.

She thought then of the grand room Elsa had made, the strange ritual she had done. She thought of the story Elsa had told her the very first night they had met, about her sister falling and landing, so still and cold, struck by Elsa's magic.

"Did you?" she asked.

"What?" Elsa was sniffling just a bit, and pulled back to meet Jonne's eyes.

"Did you make her laugh?"

Elsa blinked, and drew in a deep, shaking breath. "I did," she said, and pressed her face to Jonne's neck again.

"Well done, then," Jonne said softly, continuing to stroke her back gently. Outside she could just barely hear Olaf's laughter, carried on the faint winds. It was a light sound, a comforting one, and she thought she saw Elsa smiling before she finally fell asleep.

* * *

The King and Queen of Arendelle were supposed to be gone two weeks.

It took two months to learn what had happened to them. News was slow to travel across an angry sea.

The waiting had been terrible. The day it ended was much worse.

Now Anna stood, alone, between two headstones. And Kristoff couldn't do anything about it.

His mourning clothes were uncomfortably thick, and musty smelling. They were new, and he hadn't had time to wash them. Wouldn't have thought of it anyway.

Anna was off center, standing closer to her mother's stone than her father's. It might have been symbolic, or an accident. She might only have been giving the priest a considerate amount of space. But Kristoff thought the space was meant for someone. Someone to stand with Anna, and support her. But Anna stood alone.

He had taken his gloves off and wrung them in his fists, twisting, hearing the creak of the leather. He had already gotten several looks. He didn't care. He was used to the looks.

He had no place by her. He wasn't her family. Her parents were only his monarchs. It didn't matter that they had taken him in, had given him a home. Had asked about his work and encouraged his progress and scolded him when he needed to be scolded. They had been kind, but distant, and in the end he was never anything like a son to them, not really. He had always been clear on the division between them, even though Anna herself hadn't seemed to notice it. She was royalty, and he was not.

Now she was the Crown Princess, Heir Apparent, de facto Ruler and Protectorate of the Kingdom. He was still just the ice boy who lived in the stables. And so Anna stood alone.

Near him Gerda sniffled. She was Anna's nursemaid, but she had always kept an eye out for him as well. With them was Kai, the castle steward, who had cleaned up behind him and Anna without complaining, and Gunnar, the stable master, who had given him and Sven their little bedroom. It was as close to a family as he had, if only Anna could be with them.

If he were the one grieving (and he wasn't, he couldn't be, he needed to be strong for Anna), then he thought he wouldn't want to be around anyone but Sven. Certainly not assorted royalty and officials who came out of a sense of obligation, whose condolences may or may not be sincere. He thought, if he were honest, that he might not even want the company of his best human friend. Anna was always bright with optimism, and sometimes, in the darkness, any amount of light hurt.

There was no sign of that light on her face now. And he didn't know how to put it back. He couldn't be that bright person. On his best day he could only hope to keep up with her, never outmatch her.

The service ended. He started, legs tense, but Anna was already being surrounded by Important People. People he couldn't push aside, and most assuredly not knock down, because it wasn't his place. He had no title, no privilege. No power to do anything.

He thought he might try anyway if he were forced to keep standing there. And inadvertently ruining an alliance or starting a war because he had too much frustrated energy would only make things so much worse for Anna. So with a final look that she didn't see, he turned and headed for the castle.

Sven was waiting at the stable. He sniffed at Kristoff's clothes and let out a low, mournful bellow.

"Hey, buddy," Kristoff said, rubbing Sven's chin and neck. "Hey." The gloves had been jammed awkwardly in his jacket pocket, and he pulled them out now and threw them in the corner.

"Sorry I've been gone," he said to Sven. "It's been kind of hectic lately, hasn't it?" With everything going on, he had been neglecting Sven. That wouldn't do. He peeled off his jacket, throwing it without care onto the floor, and fetched Sven's brushes.

He brushed Sven until he shone, picked all the burrs from his fur, made sure his hooves were clean and healthy. He rubbed down the places where the harness pulled on him, and brushed again while the motion sent his fur into disarray. His new clothes were getting dirty, but he didn't care. He would take them out back and burn them before he ever wore them again.

At some point in the working, he started to sing. Slow, even songs, his voice so low that the words barely reached his own ears, because the words didn't matter. Only the tempo did, smooth and steady. Sven's ears followed him as he moved, but the reindeer was otherwise silent and still in deference to the mood.

He had left the stable doors wide open, and there was a distant sound drifting through them now. He looked out to see the official funeral party making their way across the courtyard. Anna was in front; as he watched, Kai ushered her through the front doors, and then closed them and began turning everyone away.

Kristoff's relief was staggering, but it was chased immediately by uncertainty. In Anna's position he wouldn't want anything in the world but to be alone right now. And she finally had the chance to.

But that was him, and he recognized almost instantly that Anna never wanted to be alone.

He slipped through the servants' entrance. The castle was empty as far as he could see. Of course Anna had dismissed everyone for the occasion, but it hadn't ever seemed so quiet before, even when he had crept through it in the middle of the night.

He hesitated again at the end of Anna's hallway. It was such a silly, stupid thing, but he hadn't been allowed in her bedroom since he was twelve years old. Of course, she wasn't technically allowed in his either, not that it had ever stopped her. But would it be an intrusion? Would she really want him right now?

There was a touch at his back, and he nearly cried out. But it was only Gerda, her eyes red and knowing, nudging him towards Anna's bedroom. He gathered his breath and his courage, and went to the door.

His knuckles were soft against the wood; maybe too soft, he realized. He knocked again, slightly harder, and called, "Anna?"

There was no answer. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. "Anna?" he called again, pushing it open.

Her room was cast in shadow. The setting sun wasn't directly visible from the window, and there was no fire nor lamp. There was, in fact, nothing and no one at all as far as he could see.

He stepped in the room fully, keeping a hand on the door, while worry gnawed at him. Wasn't she here? Where else would she be? Then he saw in the far corner what had looked like a shadow shift, and utter a soft sob.

He was across the room in an instant. He wasn't sure who reached first, but her arms were around his neck and his around her waist, pulling her into his lap and rocking gently.

He had come to comfort, but his voice was lost in the face of her grief, the tear tracks streaking down her cheeks, the lost and shattered look in her eyes. What could he offer her now?

They sat like that for a long time, Anna crying quietly and his own words of comfort lost below the the lump in his throat. "Kristoff," she said finally, brokenly, "what am I gonna do?" Her voice caught on a sob, and she buried her face in his chest. "I can't do it alone," she whispered.

"You're not alone," he said instantly, his voice stronger and surer than he would have thought possible. "I promise, okay? You won't be alone."

She keened, almost doubling over in his lap, and for a moment he panicked. But after a few more shuddering breaths she actually seemed to calm slightly. Her grip on him slackened, and now she looked simply exhausted.

The daylight had faded almost completely, and the darkness was not only unsettling, but was beginning to make his hands clumsy. "Let's, uh, let's get some light in here, okay?" he said gently, and immediately felt terrible. But Anna nodded against his chest, and managed to pull herself to her feet.

He guided her to a plush armchair and quickly set about building a fire. He kept his eyes focused on the task, absurdly feeling that to look at her before the light was full would be imprudent. He lit a lamp on the desk for good measure, trying to chase the last of the shadows away. When the warm light was dancing across each wall, he finally turned back.

Anna was watching him closely. The look in her eyes was both disconcerting and familiar, and it took a moment to place why. Then he remembered: A little princess, standing in the garden, her arms around Sven, her eyes the only visible part of her face. A little girl who had just lost her sister, watching him intensely. A grieving girl who nonetheless was about to reach out to him, and in doing so would become his truest family.

Maybe she remembered as well, because she swallowed and said, "Where's Sven?"

"Outside," Kristoff said, his every word and movement feeling awkward. Feeling wrong. "In the stables." Then, "Do...do you want to see him?"

It seemed like such a ridiculous question. But she practically melted with relief, and nodded.

"Okay. Alright. I'll go get him. Wait-wait here," he said, as though she would disappear, because it almost felt like she might.

Gerda saw him leave and watched curiously, perhaps disapprovingly (or disappointedly). But he had no time to explain. It was quick work to get to the stables. It was somewhat more difficult to guide Sven inside and up the grand staircase, but they made it all the same. He thanked the castle architects for their predisposition to wide doorways and low steps.

At Anna's door he wavered again; not because he thought they would be unwelcome, but because for a moment he was afraid he would open it to see the room dark and gray again, and Anna curled in on herself, this time too far gone for him to reach her.

But when he opened the door the room was bright with the fire he had built, and Anna sat in the same chair, watching them.

Sven only nicked the doorframe a little as Kristoff guided him in, and immediately went to Anna. She was even smiling just a bit, though it looked more forced than anything. She put her hand on Sven's nose, pressed her brow to his, and let out a shuddering breath. Kristoff closed the door behind them.

He could think of nothing to say, but apparently words weren't needed. In front of his eyes she relaxed, her eyelids becoming heavier with each passing minute. Within the hour she was asleep. She and Sven had ended up on the floor, and she curled against him like he were her pillow. Kristoff tugged the blanket from her bed and laid it over her. Sven huffed in satisfaction, then stretched out his neck and closed his eyes.

Kristoff didn't think he'd be getting to sleep anytime soon. It was late, and his eyes burned with exhaustion, but he was still too agitated to relax. He paced the length of the room several times before realizing his heavy step might wake Anna, and stopping in front of the portrait of the royal family.

It made him uneasy. This was the family Anna wanted. The one she deserved. But all she had was Kristoff and Sven. And while he had been happy all his life with Sven and Anna, it just didn't seem fair. He had lost his family before he knew them. There was no grief because he had never really had anyone to grieve. He didn't know how to navigate this.

Well...he would start by being there for Anna. He had promised her she wouldn't be alone, and he intended to keep that promise. He was more than a friend, not quite a brother, but he would be there for her as long as she needed him. With that thought he rummaged a spare quilt from the armoire and settled into the armchair to attempt a few hours of restless sleep. So that he would be there when Anna awoke.


	6. Chapter 6

**Twelve years apart**

* * *

Something was wrong.

It was hard to figure out what, exactly. But things hadn't been quite right for a while now.

It was making Elsa's mind spin, her fingers fidget, because she solved problems. She made things right. But how could she when she wasn't even sure what was wrong?

They had never come down from the mountain. Or, well, they did sometimes; Elsa would go to the village every once in a while, and Jonne traveled regularly. But after she had created Olaf and made a castle of ice (because castles were the buildings she knew), after Jonne had learned the best way to haul up supplies and they had hidden the entrance to their cave, there hadn't seemed any reason to leave. Elsa was controlled, and settled, and honestly quite tired of wandering.

She was also aimless and sometimes lonely. Jonne had followed her all over creation, but now that Elsa was no longer leading anywhere she seemed flummoxed, and had been heading out on her own little adventures more and more often. Elsa didn't begrudge her for it, exactly, but she did worry, and missed her when she was gone.

At least there was Olaf. He was delightful company—adept enough to hold his own in a conversation, but innocent enough to still marvel constantly at the world around him.

Even that, though, somehow seemed to be causing problems. Olaf loved nothing more than the idea of summer, of flowers blooming and the sun warming the world and all the animals coming out to play. He didn't get that in the mountains. True it thawed enough in the valley below for greenery in the warmer months, but she feared letting him go down that far. The larks and the wolves had instincts enough to hide, and seemed to like the snow just fine anyway. Olaf's only instinct seemed to be to yearn for anything new regardless of his own self preservation.

He should have summer, and warmth; Elsa knew he should. But she didn't know how she would hide him in a blooming field if it came to it. Didn't know how she would protect him if someone were to find him. Knew, just the same, that she couldn't keep him up there forever. Surely that would be cruel.

Jonne was another problem entirely. She was restless, always, and Elsa hadn't realized exactly how much of her energy was diverted by the hiking or the hunting until she had no reason to do either. Now the hounds brought them game, which had been invaluable during the traveling but seemed almost an insult now, in that it left Jonne without purpose, sending her pacing the castle with an agitated step and a sharp tongue. Elsa could have bid the wolves to stop, but she didn't think that would help. It would be a concession. An act of pity. Jonne would never abide that. She didn't need kindness; she needed purpose.

Maybe that's what was lacking all around. Elsa had spent ten years slowly learning her way around her powers. She thought she had it now, or at least as well as she could, perfection being an ideal she had abandoned long ago. It's not that she had never thought about what she would do once she had finally gained control; it was that her thoughts had been, "I will find a place to call home and settle down and be happy." The first two parts of that were meaningless without the third, but the first two were the only things she had so far achieved.

Little things. Little things piling on and on, making everything feel wrong. The way Jonne shivered and burrowed under the blankets when the cold bit at her. She was the only one of them who felt it, and Elsa felt guilty for it. She had always had the idea that Jonne enjoyed the cold, but now she realized that what Jonne enjoyed was magic. Without the magic, the snow was as unbearable for her as it was for anyone. She felt a fool for not seeing it before.

Things were shifting between them. Had been for a while now. These nights, when they reached for one another, there was a stiffness in the movements, as if they had to find their way around each other all over again. Elsa had come to prefer the nights they fell asleep talking or laughing or doing nothing at all instead. It was too much, she thought; too long of being each other's only friends and protectors and confidants and family and now lovers on top of all that as well. She'd easily trade the latter for all the former. Those were the things that mattered.

Olaf relieved the burden, but not enough. And there was the wistful look in Olaf's eyes when he talked about things like flowers and summer breezes, and the fumbling way she tried to placate him without promising things she couldn't deliver. The way he listened, wide eyed and gaping, when Jonne told him stories of people she had met, and he remarked how wonderful it must be to make new friends. Other things, things he couldn't help, like the way Elsa would be watching him sometimes and not just see him as childlike, but as an actual child, laughing and running through the halls, calling, _Elsa, let's go and play_!

She wondered if she was the only person he remembered.

She did what she could. Jonne brought them paints and papers, and she and Olaf would spends whole days creating art of brightly colored flowers (a skill in which they were equally incompetent) to hang on the castle walls. She told him stories, as many and as often as he wanted to hear, and laughed and danced with him even when it didn't suit her mood.

Jonne, in contrast, mostly seemed to need the opportunity to entertain herself. She was remarkably adept at finding her own reasons to wander. She had spent weeks climbing the nearby peaks, figuring out exactly how hidden their little alcove was and how far Elsa could build without drawing undue attention. She went scavenging for supplies in any number of little villages, and brought back stories and songs. For Elsa she searched for books, any and all kinds. They weren't always the easiest things to find, and sometimes the traveling took weeks. That was for the best; she was always more settled, more affectionate and patient when she returned.

It was all temporary fixes. Olaf would never stop wanting warmth. Jonne would inevitably become restless and distracted again. And then there was Elsa herself, and her odd feeling of emptiness. But maybe if she could hold them all together a while longer, she could figure out a way to keep everyone safe and happy.

She had to.

The larks had come by earlier, harassing Jonne like they always did. Not long after they decided to stay Elsa had sent them out to keep watch of the slopes. Here, in their secluded home, they never saw another living human. But that didn't mean people didn't travel the mountains, which were as dangerous as ever. Jonne had thought the watching a form of protection, which it was, but not for them. The larks searched for travelers who became lost, who were about to succumb to the cold. Then they came and gathered Jonne, who would find the poor soul and take them down the mountain.

(The soul was always a bit poorer when Jonne was through with them, because she searched their pockets and bags for valuables and called it a fee. Elsa knew the necessity of it, but when Jonne was gone and it was left to her to help them, she left them their belongings, since she knew the mountain may well have already claimed their fingers and toes.)

Now, she and Olaf waited for Jonne to come back. He was playing with ice bricks she had created for him, building his own little city and babbling to himself all the while. Elsa was reading a very dry history book that she was nonetheless committed to finish, because it was the only one she had left. She'd have to send Jonne out to hunt down more soon.

Speaking of: The girl in question was tromping up the stairs even now, followed by two of the hounds. She dropped her rope in the entryway and began rummaging through her bag.

"Everything alright?" Elsa asked. She nodded sharply.

"Damn fool fell off a cliff and broke his leg," she said, and Elsa winced. "Maybe next time he'll mind his step. Got a bit of coin though, and some food, a compass—here, Olaf, it's sort of a pretty thing, you might like it."

"It's perfect!" he gasped, turning the dull gray metal over in his hands. "Oh, I know just what to do with this." He set about rearranging some of the bricks at the top of the tallest structure, and Elsa set down her book.

"How's that poor man supposed to find his way without his compass?" she asked, making sure her tone was light.

"Maybe he'll pay more attention if he hasn't got it, and watch where he's walking." Jonne undid her scarf and tilted her head. "What's that there, Olaf, a clock tower?"

"Yep!" he chirped. "It's right next to the library, and over here we have the stable, and that's the school—it's right next to the park, 'cause kids need to play, am I right?"

"It's lovely," Elsa said with a smile. Jonne grunted affirmatively, then took three running steps, threw herself to her knees, and skidded directly through the ice village, sending bricks flying everywhere.

Olaf cried out, and Elsa shot to her feet. Jonne was cackling as Olaf rushed forward and began scooping up the scattered bricks, seemingly oblivious to the crushed look on his face.

"Jonne! What is _wrong_ with you?" Elsa fumed.

She rolled her eyes, face darkening into annoyance, and said, "I'm just having a bit of fun. Come on, it was too perfect not to."

"I worked all day on that!" Olaf, who was clutching the little ice bricks hard enough to make his twig fingers creak, looked acutely distressed. Elsa wanted to comfort him, but Jonne's tongue was quicker.

"So what? Just make it again," she said dismissively. "There's nothing else to do, so what does it matter?" Before Elsa could intervene he threw a brick at her; for a moment both women were frozen in shocked surprise. Jonne recovered faster than Elsa did, and returned the volley. Within seconds a full blown war was going on, with shards of ice flying fast and furious.

"Stop, _stop_!" Elsa said. To Jonne it was almost (almost) certainly just another game, but Olaf looked genuinely upset. Thankfully they both listened, their faces tense with frustration but their arms, at least, still.

Elsa sighed and thought as furiously as she could. Jonne was simply being typically impulsive, but she knew Olaf's feelings were more tender than her own or Elsa's, and that he took great pride in his projects. It was an oafish thing to do. But what Jonne had said stuck with her: _There's nothing else to do, so what's it matter_? More than that, her tone; not just frustrated, but almost bitter.

It hadn't always been like this, had it? They used to have fun. Exploring the woods, and playing in Elsa's snow. It had been fun, once.

They didn't play like that anymore. It was already so cold up here, and Elsa just didn't need to nearly as much anymore. It hadn't been just play, but practice, and there were less reasons to practice these days.

Her mistake, she now realized, was assuming that meant there were less reasons to play as well.

"There's better ways to have fun than that," she said to Jonne. Then, to both of them, "Pick up the bricks. Put them in that bag there; we're going outside."

Olaf was almost immediately distracted, and quickly set to work. Jonne scowled, but did up her scarf again. Elsa just prayed she could keep them both happy.

—

"You didn't have any trouble getting down the mountain earlier?" Elsa asked quietly once they were on their way, headed to a sizable clearing just a bit down the way.

Jonne jerked her shoulders roughly. "Only trouble was knocking the idiot out," she said, her voice rough and muffled by the scarf. "I don't like it when they see me. S'best they don't know anything."

Elsa shivered a little and wrapped her arms around her waist. "I'm not good at that part. I always feel like they see more of me than I mean for them to."

Jonne nodded. After a pause, she said, "They're talking about you in the village, you know."

"What?"

"Callin' you the Snow Queen. Lady of the mountain, white as snow, dressed like would freeze anyone else but doesn't seem to mind the cold herself."

"Oh," Elsa said, her stomach dropping. "They really know that much?"

"They guess more than they know, but it's good guessin'. Some of 'em say you're the reason for the blizzards, that you make it snow here so much more than elsewhere."

Elsa blinked. "I can't control the weather. And it's always been terrible here, hasn't it? Isn't that what they said when we first came here?" That's one of the reasons she had thought they should stay. She couldn't dismiss the terrible snowstorms, but she could help people through them, and that's all she really wanted to do.

"Same as what I said." Jonne shrugged again. "Didn't say it was smart people. Most of 'em were laughin' at the idea, 'specially the older ones who know what the hell they're talking about. But some of the young men, they seem to like the idea. A pretty lady of the mountain, wandering 'round half clothed. Who wouldn't like that thought?"

"I…" Elsa looked down at her dress, which was lightweight but fully modest. "I'm more dressed than that!"

"Not for this weather you aren't," she said, and from the look of her eyes she was smiling. "Anyway. It's all just talk and stuff. I only thought you should know."

"Yeah." Elsa felt uneasy now, but she pushed it aside. No one had found them yet, so they'd be alright for a while still. Wouldn't they?

She stopped walking, and Jonne and Olaf stilled with her. Here, this was a good enough area. She waved her hand, and a flat slab of ice rose next to them.

"Now," she said, "I think you two should build something. Together."

"We had to come outside for this?" Jonne grumbled. She was shivering just slightly, but if Elsa's plan worked then hopefully it wouldn't be for long.

"Trust me a little, would you?" she asked softly. Jonne looked guilt stricken at that; far too harsh an emotion for the mood Elsa wanted to invoke, so she said, "Just a little thing. Come on."

Somewhat haltingly, Jonne and Olaf made a little house. Olaf happily continued on with the building, but Jonne looked to Elsa cautiously. Elsa smiled, raised her hands, and with a burst of magic created a larger version of their little building on the ground directly in front of them. It wasn't quite life size, but was plenty large enough to climb on. Both Olaf and Jonne gasped. She looked at the table, to the other structures Olaf had half-built, and created them as well.

Picking up on the idea immediately, Olaf quickly began building more, and Elsa just as quickly duplicated his efforts in the field before them. Jonne, meanwhile, abandoned the bricks and quickly began climbing on the ice city coming to life in front of her; Elsa had made the surface of the ice rough and ridged just for that reason.

"Olaf!" she called once she had clamored to the top of their ice house. "Here, make one here, put one for me to climb on!"

He did, laughing. And so they played, Olaf building, Elsa casting her magic, and Jonne climbing, falling, and climbing again.

After one tumble she shook herself off, and instead of climbing back up, straddled a chunk of ice that had been sitting loose to catch her breath.

"Olaf," Elsa said quietly, and beckoned him towards Jonne. She slipped behind the other woman, wrapping her arms around her waist, and gestured for Olaf to sit behind her.

"What's this then?" Jonne asked.

"Do you have your pick?" She lifted it with a nod. "Stick it in the ice. And hold on tight."

She did, and once her grip was set Elsa gathered her magic and _pushed_, sending the ice flying forward, faster even than a sled. Jonne howled, and Olaf squealed, and she was laughing as the wind whipped through her hair.

Finally, _finally_, things felt right.

—

When they made it back to the ice castle, well after dark, they were all three breathless with laughter. After a dinner of dried meat and bread she and Jonne saw Olaf on his nightly wanderings, and, feeling much too energized still for sleep, went to the uppermost level of the castle to watch the stars.

Jonne lay with her head in Elsa's lap, and Elsa stroked her hair and her face. Today had been a good day. Today had been fun. Sitting there, now, she couldn't believe she had almost forgotten how important that was. Elsa couldn't do everything for either Jonne or Olaf, but she could let them have fun.

She thought of the day they had spent, and how much it was like her very earliest days in the robber's den, when there was no sense of responsibility and, as far as she knew then, no reason to worry. When Jonne had become her best friend in the world, and hadn't seemed to know how to do anything but laugh.

They were more than friends now, of course, but it was hard to rightly say what they were. "Lovers," she supposed, was the conventional guess, but even that felt inadequate; too base and simple. And surely that was the least important part of it anyway. She thought of how Jonne reached for her at night, infrequently and guiltily, and of the easy way she had held her today while they played. She knew which she preferred. Knew it was time, finally, to admit that.

She couldn't be everything for Jonne. She thought it had been selfish to ever think she could; as selfish, almost, as it was to keep all of them locked up here. So she stroked Jonne's cheeks and asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing at all," Jonne said, sounding deeply satisfied. "It's very nice."

Her tone made Elsa smile. "What do you usually think about?" Jonne, perhaps intentionally, gave the impression her mind was more empty than not.

There was a long moment of silence. Then she said, "You, I suppose." Her voice was pensive, and although Elsa wouldn't have thought that answer would surprise her, something in the way she said it did.

"And what do you think about me?" she asked quietly.

Another short pause before Jonne sighed. "I don't know if it's something that can be said. I just know your all's my head these days, and it feels like it's just buzzing around. Feels busy. I can't focus." She opened her eyes, and when they met Elsa's they were guilty. "I haven't been behaving as I ought, I guess."

"There's no way you ought to behave," Elsa said, "as long as you're happy." Then, the question she had been scared to ask: "Are you?"

Jonne took a long time in answering, which was good in that it meant she was taking the question seriously, but also froze Elsa's body solid with tension. "Happier sometimes than others, I guess," she finally said, and it was like Elsa's entire being thawed and sagged. "But there's nothing special about that." She met Elsa's eyes again. "I had fun today."

"I'm glad," she said. "I'm glad you had fun. But I've been wondering...if you wouldn't be happier somewhere else. With other people."

"Are you part of these people?" Jonne demanded immediately. "It's worth nothing to me if you're up here alone."

_Then why are you gone so often_? Elsa thought suddenly, bitterly. But that wasn't fair. Jonne was only doing the best she could. It was all any of them could do. "You need more friends," she said. "Friends who don't live up in the mountains."

"So do you. You can't stay up here by yourself forever, Elsa." There was a ring of truth to that, but it was buried under layers of complications, so she smoothed Jonne's hair before answering.

"It's not so simple. It's easier up here." She sighed. "I think I'm better at being the Snow Queen than being a normal person." She wouldn't know how to give up her magic now. Once she had thought she should hide it, but it was as much a part of her as her beating heart, and it would kill her just as surely to lose it.

"You don't know that you can't be both," Jonne said. "You haven't ever tried, and what could anyone do to you, anyway?" She grinned. "You're a _queen_."

"Not by proper proclamation." Not even by birthright, anymore. Surely that had long been stripped from her.

She thought of the men Jonne had said talked about her. How she dragged them down the mountains, and how they turned around and blamed her for the storms. It might only be talk and stuff now, but what would it become of she were to reveal herself?

She didn't want to think about it. So she pulled herself back to her original thought. "What if I said," she asked, "that I think we shouldn't be lovers anymore?"

She wanted her best friend back. She wanted the Jonne she had grown up with. The one she had cared for always. The one who didn't feel it an obligation to be with her in any way, and who, in the end, was better as a sister or a friend than as a lover. She thought it might be the only way to preserve what was between them.

Jonne's eyes, which had been meandering between the stars, shifted to Elsa's again. "What's that got to do with anything?" she asked. "I'll love you just the same; I always have."

Warmth, and comfort—love—spread through Elsa's chest. "I love you too," she said, and had never meant anything quite so sincerely. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jonne's forehead; Jonne raised her hand and wrapped it around the back of Elsa's neck, not pulling or squeezing, simply holding.

"I worry about your poor head, though," Elsa eventually said. She set her hand against Jonne's brow in a gesture of comfort. "I don't want it to get worn out. I know it's not used to working too hard."

Jonne laughed, warmly. "Well I don't know if you much helped with that. Maybe I'll just think on other women now."

Elsa blinked. "Do you think of other women?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Jonne said, her eyes falling closed. Then they popped open again. "Should I not?"

Now Elsa was the one laughing, her whole body trembling and shaking so much that Jonne began to giggle again just from the vibrations. "You're ridiculous," she said, but felt almost entirely relieved. She hadn't lost her best friend. In the end, that was what mattered.

* * *

Anna had been cooped up in diplomatic meetings for a week solid. The meetings had, for the most part, been an egregious combination of subtly tense and stupefyingly boring. True, there has been that one incident involving one of the French ambassadors and poorly prepared fish on Tuesday to liven things up, but things had quickly gone downhill after that.

The event was being hosted in Arendelle. When her advisors had approached her about the possibility she had jumped on it, because it meant she got to stay here, safe, and not get on a boat that would take her to a foreign land and may or may not bring her back.

She wasn't scared of boats, of course. That would be silly. She lived right next to a harbor, for goodness' sake! She just...preferred for them to be floating on the water, and for herself to be on land. That was all.

After the past week, though, she very genuinely regretted the decision. If she had gone elsewhere then she would have been a _guest_, with all the niceties that entailed. As it was she was a _hostess_, and that meant that even after the meetings, she still had to keep talking to all the same boring dignitaries. All the time. And she couldn't even escape anywhere, since by virtue of the hosting her home was temporarily their home as well.

A big problem was just that there was so little for her to do. Arendelle practically ran itself. As long as the alliances and trade agreements her father set in place were maintained—and so far they had been—Anna was needed for very little except to lend her signature to some documents. She wondered, sometimes, if the council didn't pity her still. If they were hiding some of the more difficult or complicated details from her, in order not to overwhelm her. In fact, when they had first mentioned the planned diplomatic summit, it had been to assure her that Arendelle was still in good standing among its allies, and there was no reason for her to attend at all, really. It was only after she insisted that it would be best for her to at least show her face that they thought to offer to host it, in order to show everyone that the court of Arendelle was still strong after the death of the king and queen.

Anna wasn't sure if she would use the word _strong_, exactly. She felt she was more often fumbling than not. She knew enough now to be grateful for the lessons her parents had more or less had to force on her. In the end it hadn't been enough, really, but only because of the lack of time.

They hadn't had nearly enough time.

Now, she remembered her lessons, remembered her parents, and tried. She tried so hard. She remembered being thirteen years old, standing in her father's study, lashing out against the future he was trying to prepare her for. Remembered being angry. Remembered being scared. Remembered, above all, being sad and lonely. These days she felt mostly embarrassed by her behavior, but a tinge of the loneliness remained. Always would.

As guilty as she felt about the incident now, the truth remained that Anna was not supposed to be queen. She was the last member of her family that was supposed to sit on the throne. The fact that she now did—or would, at least, on her twenty-first birthday—still scared her sometimes, bone deep. The crown, metaphorical as it still was, suited her poorly. Some days she thought she would give up everything to have someone to take it from her.

But in the end she didn't, and it didn't matter anyway. Her councillors ran the kingdom just fine, and she was at least trying to learn more about her duties. And she had gotten through a whole week without inadvertently starting any wars, so that was good, right? With that thought in mind, she resolved to at least enjoy herself at the party being thrown to celebrate the end of the summit, before everyone started leaving the next day.

The enjoying turned out to be more difficult than she anticipated. Most diplomats only became marginally more interesting outside of meetings. Half of them wanted to continue talking business, and the other half seemed to mostly want to talk about themselves, and she could only feign interest in that for so long. Even when she did see a conversation she wanted to join she was almost always waylaid on the way by the Baron of Arcona or the Duke of Weselton or someone equally insufferable. And being hostess, she couldn't stay too long in any one group anyway.

_You're the one who wanted to come and make a good impression_, she thought, trying to motivate herself. It lasted about three seconds, and then she sighed and wandered out onto the balcony, hoping the fresh air would wake her up a bit.

She had only been out there a minute when she saw two familiar figures trudging across the courtyard. They were obscured by the moonlight, but she would have recognized them anywhere, and immediately gasped and began waving furiously.

Luckily Kristoff looked up to the balcony before she had to call his name. He stopped, smiled, and raised his hand in greeting. Sven saw her as well and began bouncing excitedly. She giggled, and then beckoned them. Kristoff had that nice suit she bought him, and at least if he were here he'd keep her from falling over from boredom.

Immediately Kristoff shook his head, his lips curling in disgust. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. He made gagging and choking motions, miming being strung up by a noose. She nodded in agreement, but stuck her tongue out at him all the same. From here it looked like he laughed. He inclined his head towards the stable, and she beamed and nodded vigorously. Their plans for that night set, he gave her one more wave goodbye and guided Sven away.

Mood considerably brightened, Anna decided to give the hostessing thing one more try. She turned, her stride quick and sure, and immediately bounced off someone's chest and back against the balcony railing.

She gasped, hands scrambling for purchase, as she tilted just far enough over the edge of the balcony for her stomach to drop. Then there were hands at her waist, steadying her, and a voice saying, "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

"Ah—I'm—!" It took a second still to steady herself, for her balance to right and the sudden rush of adrenaline to dissipate. When it did she found herself looking at a tall young man, dressed sharply in a white suit and with hair redder even than her own. Her breath was lost again, for an entirely different reason. "I'm-I'm fine," she eventually managed.

His hands were still on her waist, and his eyes locked on hers. A second later he seemed to remember himself, and helped pull her back upright. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "Here I was coming to introduce myself, and you looked distracted so I didn't want to bother you, but I should have announced myself. Forgive me." He stepped back and bowed.

"Oh no!" Anna said quickly. "I mean it's—it's fine, I'm fine, you're…" He had righted himself, and she was afforded another look at his warm eyes, his handsome jaw, his neat sideburns. "...gorgeous—I mean fine! No, wait, yes, fine. We're all fine, here." She giggled, a bit hysterically. Then she remembered exactly what she had been distracted doing—having a pantomime conversation with the garden shrubbery, as far as he could see—and blushed.

He looked charmed though. He bowed again, and said, "Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles."

She curtsied. "Princess Anna, of Arendelle. I, I don't think I've seen you in the negotiations, have I?" Obviously she hadn't, who would be able to forget a face like that, but what else would a foreign prince be doing here?

"Oh, no," he said. "I don't have an official diplomatic title. But when I heard about the summit I thought it would be a good chance to tag along and see another kingdom. I've actually been touring the country while the diplomats have been at work. This is my first night in Arendelle Castle proper." He tilted his head to her. "And of course, I had to introduce myself to my hostess."

"Well, I'm so glad you did! And I'm glad you're getting at least a night in the castle; it's been pretty boring lately, with the meetings and everything, but, I mean, it's, it's home." She leaned awkwardly against the railing, trying to find a place for her hands.

"I think I should have come earlier," Hans said. "It's lovely." His eyes didn't leave her face, and she was quite sure she was smiling entirely too widely, but he was as well.

Then she saw over his shoulder Kai gesturing to her. "Oh," she said. "It looks like I have to go talk to someone."

"Oh! Oh yes, of course, you must be busy." He stepped to the side and gallantly swept his arm towards the balcony doors, allowing her the right of way.

"Unfortunately," she said as she began walking. "But maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," he said with a smile. Then he pursed his lips and said, "Or maybe you'll see my identical twin brother who happens to be dressed exactly like me and is also named Hans, but will make a much better first impression."

She laughed, hard enough that she stopped in the doorway. "Well I'll be looking forward to meeting this twin brother you may or may not have."

Hans laughed as well. "Actually, I do have twin brothers. I mean they're not my twins, they're each others', but they exist, so…"

"Really?" Anna asked. Kai cleared his throat behind them, and she sighed. "I have to go. But I want to hear more about these brothers—the real ones!"

"Your wish is my command," Hans said, and she watched him until the crowds blocked her view of the door, a stupid grin on her face all the while.

—

She had just finished talking to the Countess of Sylvoras—Sivaros? Slyverus? oh, whatever—when she saw the Duke of Weselton approaching, and instinctively cringed. He'd want either another conversation or another dance, and she honestly wasn't sure which one was worse. Her advisors had ensured her that their trade agreements with Weselton were incredibly generous (in fact, she got the impression they were a bit too generous, and thought she'd have to deal with that eventually), so what more could he possibly want?

Before she could decide whether she wanted to try to flee in heels, someone took her hand and tugged out onto the dance floor. "May I?"

"Hans!" She was smiling before she knew it, and they began to waltz.

"You looked like you could use a rescue," he whispered conspiratorially.

"My hero," she giggled, and nudged just an inch closer. His face was already warm and familiar, and she felt her heart beat a bit faster. "So! Brothers. You have them?"

"I do," he said, leading them effortlessly across the floor. "Twelve, in fact. All older."

"Wow! And two of them are twins?"

"Four, actually. Two pairs." He inclined his head. "You would have met my brother Filip this week?"

"Filip...oh! Prince Filip of the Southern Isles, yes. Whoa, that totally did not click until just now." She studied Hans' features again, and tried to remember Prince Filip. "You two look nothing alike."

"Well, he favors our grandfather, and I take after our mother." He chuckled and said, "When you have that many kids things end up looking a bit scattered, I guess."

"I'll bet!" There was a spin out in the dance, and when they were close again she said, "Twelves brothers, wow. That sounds like so much fun!"

"Well..." Hans winced a little. "It's true that I never lacked for playmates. But brothers get kind of...competitive. And since I was the youngest they were pretty rough, sometimes."

"Aw." She dared to squeeze his arm, and he smiled. "Still. I can't imagine growing up in a family that big."

"Forgive me," he said, "if I'm out of line, but...you're an only child?"

"Yes," she said, and felt only a slight pang. "I mean, I am now. It's, it's kind of weird, I guess? I mean, since I was second born I never really thought about ruling the kingdom or whatever, but here I am!"

"Here you are," he agreed, eyes tracking her face closely. She could feel a flush on her cheeks. "You're doing a wonderful job too, from what I've heard. Arendelle seems like a lovely kingdom."

"Aw," she said, warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you! So much. Really."

The song was over, and the duke was waiting; then the music began again, Hans spun her into the next dance, and she felt a rush of giddy delight.

"You're such a good dancer!" she blurted. "I can't tell you how nice it is that you're not stepping on my toes—I mean, I guess that doesn't sound like a great compliment when I say it like that, but you'd be surprised how many men here can't dance at all."

Hans grinned at her. "I believe you have to be careful with how you treat a lady." He dipped her, and Anna giggled.

They passed the rest of the dance in easy conversation. The song was over much too soon, and the band looked to be packing up for the night, so there wasn't a chance for another. There were things to do and people to talk to, but Hans was staring into her eyes, looking as entranced as she was sure she did, and she didn't want to be anywhere but next to him. Feeling daring, she abruptly grabbed his hand and dragged him around the punch table and behind a curtain.

"Sorry!" she giggled as they stumbled to a stop. "Sorry. I just—ugh, parties used to be so much fun, you know? And now they're just more work!"

"Right?" he said, laughing as well. "When you're a kid you can just run around—"

"No one cares if you mess up!"

"Just do what you want, eat lots of cake."

"_So_ much chocolate!"

"And now there's all these rules!"

"Exactly!" She collapsed against the wall, groaning. "I'm pretty sure 'no hiding behind curtains is one of the rules,' but…"

"Forget the rules," Hans said quietly. He was very close now, closer than she had realized, and she felt her breath catch.

"Princess Anna?"

They blinked at each other, and as one burst into giggles. Anna clapped her hands over her mouth, and Hans did the same, but it was too late. Kai pulled back the curtain and stared at them.

"Hello!" Anna chirped. Hans literally bit his knuckle to keep from laughing. "Hi! Um, I know this looks weird, but Prince Hans here was just helping me find my earring."

"And I did!" he added, pointing to her bejeweled ear.

"He did! And we put it back, so we're done here, now, and we're coming out."

Kai's face was a careful mask of professionalism as he watched them shuffle back onto the dance floor. "The Baron and Baroness of Arcona are retiring for the evening, and wanted to bid you good night."

"Right, yes, of course," Anna said, still feeling light and giggly. "Lead the way." To Hans she whispered, "I have to go."

"I'll miss you," he said, and squeezed her hand. She felt her heart thump happily, and reluctantly followed Kai.

—

The rest of the evening were filled with goodbyes in various levels of inebriation as everyone went (or was dragged, depending on their state of drunkenness) to bed. She was able to see Hans off at the end of the night, and extracted a promise from him (easily given) that he'd make sure to come see her before his boat to the Southern Isles left the next afternoon.

It was late now, much later than she had expected to stay up, but she still rushed to Kristoff's door and banged on it arhythmically. He was bleary eyed with fatigue when he opened it, but let her in all the same. "How was—"

"I met a boy!" she blurted, throwing herself on her usual hay bale.

"Yeah?" he asked around a yawn. Then he blinked, visibly woke up, and said, "Yeah?"

"_Yes_!" She inhaled deeply, and said, "His name is Hans and he's from the Southern Isles—_Prince_ Hans of the Southern Isles!—and his eyes are dreamy and he's the best dancer and—"

Kristoff threw his hands up in a halting motion. "Okay, alright, _stop_. That's probably more than I need to know."

She huffed. "Aren't you even a little curious?"

"I'm really curious, yeah, but more about his personality." He ran a hand through his mussed hair. "I don't need to know about his eyes or his hair or—"

"It's red! Very neat, and he's got the nicest sideburns."

"Ew."

"Hey, some men pull them off!"

"See, this? This is why you need more female friends. I don't need to know this." He sighed and dropped onto his bed, sending up a small cloud of dust.

"Fine," Anna said, and turned to Sven. "So he wasn't even supposed to be here, right, but he wanted to come talk to me and he _did_ and he was so nice—"

"_Sven_ isn't your girl friend," Kristoff said, and sat up. "What do you mean he wasn't supposed to be here?"

"Oh, I just mean he wasn't here for the summit. I guess he was kind of here on vacation? He said he was touring and stuff, so I said I'd give him a tour of the castle tomorrow!"

"Touring?" Kristoff scratched his head again. "Isn't he a prince? Shouldn't he be representing his kingdom or something?"

"His brother Filip is the diplomat of the family. I met him this week, but I totally didn't realize they were brothers at first. They look nothing alike! Hans is way prettier."

"Please say something that doesn't have to do with how he looks," Kristoff groaned.

Anna sniffed. "He has an excellent sense of humor."

"Thank you."

"Why are you being such a grump?" she sighed, flopping over against Sven. "I'm excited!"

"I'm excited for you," he intoned, with at least a modicum of sincerity. "I just don't really want to talk about romance or whatever."

"Why not? I'll talk about it with you." She clamored over and propped her elbows on the edge of his bed. "Ooh, what about that girl you took to that festival?"

Kristoff's eyes darted, remembering. "Sigrid? Last spring?"

"Ooh," Anna said, and patted his arm comfortingly. "You need to get out more."

He shook her off. "Shut up. What about her?"

"Well, did you see her again?"

"No." He shrugged. "That was not the best date."

"You should look her up!"

"She's engaged."

"Oh." She patted his arm again. "Kristoff, I'm sorry."

He stared at her. "I went out with her once six months ago. I think I'll live."

"You've got to get more aggressive!" she said, punching his arm lightly. "You never know when you'll meet the one!"

"And you've got to stop thinking every date means true love."

"I don't think that!" she said, smarting a bit from his implication. Then she sighed dreamily. "I have a good feeling about Hans though."

"Yeah. Well, congratulations." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and helped her to her feet. "I guess you need to get to bed though. You have a date tomorrow morning."

"I do!" she squealed, bouncing, and then gasped. "Do you want to meet him?"

"Prince Hans?" Kristoff exchanged a look with Sven, who, to Anna's eyes, looked totally on board with the idea, so Kristoff should just suck it up. "I think I'll wait. Meeting the friends feels like a third date thing, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," Anna said. "Maybe if you ever _got_ to the third date…"

"Out," he said at once. "Out out out."

She laughed and let him usher her out. In the doorway she spontaneously threw her arms around his neck, and after swaying for a second he returned the hug.

"I'm happy for you," he said softly. "Really."

"Thanks." One more squeeze, and then she was off. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Yeah." He watched her until she was halfway across the courtyard, and then gently closed the door.

Anna went to bed with a skip in her step and a smile on her lips, feeling more hopeful than she had in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thirteen years apart**

* * *

There was a light knock on the door. "Princess Anna?"

"Mmf."

"Your Majesty?"

"Nnnngh!"

"Here, let me try." Heavier pounding now. "Anna! Get up already!"

"Nooooooo!" Anna rolled over, clutched her pillow, and curled into a ball. She huffed—and then sniffed properly, a very familiar scent beginning to waft in. _Chocolate_.

The voices outside her door might have been laughing. Then Sven began to sing: "_Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…_"

She gasped and shot up. "It's my birthday!" She scrambled out of bed so quickly that she had to spend a few extra seconds untangling her legs from the sheets, then threw on her dressing gown and flung the door open.

"Whoa!" Kristoff cried, laughing. "Easy there, she-demon. With that hair I can't tell if you're the princess or the dragon."

She shoved him, hard. Gerda stepped forward with a breakfast tray—chocolate crêpes and strawberries and cream! She squealed and clapped her hands.

"Happy birthday, your majesty," Kai said with a bow as Gerda slipped past her to set her breakfast on the table. Even Kristoff tipped his head to her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Thank you so much!" Then she looked around again and hit Kristoff on the arm.

"Hey!"

"You liar! Sven isn't here!"

"He's here in spirit," Kristoff said, pressing a hand to his chest. She laughed and skipped over to the breakfast table.

"Everything's ready for tonight," Kai said. "Guests have already begun to arrive."

"Ugh, I do _not_ want to see anyone yet," Anna interrupted, wiping strawberry juice from her chin.

"Of course," he said. He very kindly did not say, _As if we would let anyone see you before you've been attacked by a hairbrush_. That's why she liked Kai. His professionalism.

"Do you know when the _Colichemarde_ is due to arrive?" she asked.

"Early afternoon, if the weather holds."

Her fork, which had been aimed for a crêpe, skittered just slightly at that. But only just, and she was fairly sure no one had noticed. It would be fine. Hans' ship was a good one, sturdy and sleek, well tested in the water. He'd turn up without a hitch.

For her birthdays when she was young, her parents would wake her with her favorite breakfast foods. The morning was for family; they would breakfast in the den and spend several hours together, just talking and playing. She opened the gifts from her parents then (most of them—some were more for show than her personal enjoyment, and those would be saved to be publicly opened at the party). Afternoons were her own while the details of the party were finalized. She could run around as much as she liked with almost no reprimand, and had usually spent them with Kristoff and Sven. Kristoff never bought her gifts, but he had for a long time now written her a song every year, and sang it to her in the afternoons. Then the evening was the party, with innumerable presents and some guests she knew well and inevitably some she barely recognized. There had been a comforting structure to the day that she didn't even notice until it was gone.

Things were different now. Her sixteenth birthday there had been no party at all. Gerda had woken her with her favorite breakfast foods instead, and the difference almost crushed her. She had left it to Kai to sort the gifts from various other royal families and make sure the appropriate letters of gratitude were sent, and could not to this day say what a single one was. The only gift that mattered was Kristoff's song; he had sat on the ottoman in front of her fireplace to sing it to her, and then all the other ones he had ever written her as well. She thought he had sung her to sleep.

Seventeen was better. She had been to enough royal events at that point to be somewhat put off by the idea of having a big party—the last thing she wanted was another evening of being forced to play subtle games of politics she barely understood. Instead she arranged a grand feast for the entire township. Food and song for all the people, toys and games for the children, and a wonderful opportunity for local merchants to hawk their wares. It was intended to be a distraction; she felt uncomfortable still with the attention afforded her in her role as monarch. But it had been such a success that she thought it may well become a tradition.

This year, bolstered by the success of the diplomatic summit and a fair bit of encouragement from both her advisors and Hans, she agreed to another party. So: Favorite foods for breakfast. Festival in the afternoon. And party in the evening, which she was fully committed to enjoying, because it was her birthday and she was quite ready to ignore anything and anyone who tried to get in the way of her fun.

That was something else that would be new this year: Hans. The day after the diplomatic summit she had meant to take him on a tour of the castle. They had gotten about as far as the library before talking somehow turned into kissing turned into necking. He had very nearly missed his ship; they had to race for it, and he was red faced and breathless as he begged Anna to write him. She wasn't entirely sure when she fell in love, but she thought it might have been then: Hans, his hair mussed and his face flushed, looking a mess but smiling at her so earnestly even as the men of his ship smirked and snickered.

She had written a letter right away, and when she couldn't bear waiting on his reply, wrote a second. Apparently he had the same idea, because she received two letters from the Southern Isles before he even had a chance to reply to one of hers. And so it had gone with no less than three separate letter threads passing between them simultaneously, because it was too much agony to wait the required time for a singular response.

He had been back to visit twice so far, the first for nearly three weeks and the second for over a month. Both visits were busy and marked by his father's business as he traveled Arendelle and the surrounding realms. This visit would be the fourth, counting the summit, and Anna was almost breathless with anticipation. It was strange; she had been without him seventeen and a half years, but now a separation of six weeks felt unbearable.

They would be together soon though. To distract herself, she turned to Kristoff. "You're coming to my party," she told him.

"No," he said immediately.

"It wasn't a question."

"Royal parties are terrible!"

"That's why you have to come!" She took a bite of a crêpe and moaned at the taste. "And they're not so bad!" she mumbled around the half chewed morsel. Gerda, who was laying out her dress for the day, frowned at her.

"Not bad if you're a princess, maybe." He groaned and flopped onto her armchair, holding up a finger to count with. "One: I'm not going to know anyone there."

"I'll be there!"

"You'll be _busy_. Two," another finger up, "I hate that stupid suit you bought me. Three: I don't have anything to talk about with anyone. Four: I can't do any of the dances either, so I'm just going to sit there looking like an idiot."

Anna pursed her lips. "So what you're telling me is you want dance lessons."

"_No_."

She tapped the table impatiently. "Gerda, make sure Kristoff comes to my party tonight."

"_What_?!"

"That is a royal directive."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Gerda looked at Kristoff with a focus that would have been terrifying if it had been directed at Anna, but was hilarious since it wasn't.

"Now Gerda," Kristoff said, carefully climbing up from the chair and backing slowly towards the door. "You remember last winter, when I fixed the roof on your mother's house? We have a history; don't throw that away."

He made it to the hallway, paused, and then fled. The remaining three occupants of the room chuckled. Then Kai took his leave with a bow, and Gerda set about helping Anna get ready for the day.

—

Hans wasn't quite at the end of the gangplank when she threw herself at him, but he was steady enough to catch her and spin her, laughing all the while. "Hey!"

"Hey!" She leaned up to kiss him. "How was your trip?"

"Good," he said immediately. "No troubles at all." She beamed and ran her hands up and down the crisp lines of his sleeves. Then she saw his crew begin unloading, and her eyes bulged.

"What's all that?"

He looked back at the boxes being carted down. "Your presents, of course."

"My-_my_ presents?" She stared at the seemingly unending stream. "That's a lot of presents."

"I have a lot of family," he said, looking back to her. The warmth in his face and his eyes made her melt.

"So...is all that _just_ from your family?" she asked, pressing a bit closer. His hands drifted from her waist to the small of her back.

"I might have a little something for you too," he murmured in her ear. "A surprise." She squealed and bounced.

"Come on!" she cried, tugging him back towards the celebration. He stumbled, then laughed and trotted to right himself. "There's music and games in the square!"

He linked their arms and said, "Lead the way."

—

One of Hans' innumerable good qualities was how friendly he was with the townspeople, regardless of class. Anna knew many royals who were apathetic or callous or even cruel, but Hans treated everyone with a learned formality and genuine warmth. He was already well loved throughout Arendelle, and got along with everyone he met.

Well. Almost everyone.

They found Kristoff and Sven sitting just inside the courtyard. Sven was playing with some of the children, and Kristoff was strumming his lute. His face brightened to see Anna, and quickly shuttered to see Hans with her.

"Prince Hans," he said, standing and bowing stiffly. Anna, as ever, rolled her eyes. She didn't know why he insisted on being so formal. As much as she wheedled him about it, she couldn't get him to explain except to say, "He's a prince, that's what I'm supposed to do," or, "It's better to be safe than sorry," or the worst, "I think I'm supposed to dislike anyone you date on principle."

He was a goober sometimes, but then again he had always acted unnecessarily formal around her parents too, so she supposed it was just a quirk of being Kristoff.

"Should you be getting ready for the party?" she asked, just to needle him.

"It's cute how you still think that's happening." Kristoff idly tuned his lute, and strummed again.

"You're coming to my party."

"No."

"You are!"

"I'm not."

"He's coming to my party," she mock whispered to Hans, who chuckled.

He stepped towards Kristoff and said, "Do you want me to distract her while you run?"

"Hey!" Anna cried, batting him on the shoulder. "You're on my side, remember?" Hans laughed, and Kristoff smiled, but it was strained.

"Oh, quit pouting," she told him. "Play us a song. Something we can dance to!" The dances at the ball tonight, a mixture of formal and traditional, would be fun in their own way, but there was something to be said for just gallivanting around the courtyard.

Kristoff sighed and began to pluck at the strings. The tune was quick and jaunty, and Hans spun her once, twice, three times before taking her hands and leading her into a swift trot. They were soon joined by others, couples and singletons and groups all dancing together, while the spectators cheered and clapped for their princess and her prince. Anna's cheeks were flushed from the attention, but it felt exactly right. She squeezed Hans' hands, beaming, and he returned her smile.

Kristoff disappeared abruptly after the song. A moment later Anna saw Gerda stalk by, and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "We should visit the stalls," she told Hans. "Last year they sold out of the candied hazelnuts before I could get any, and I just about cried."

"He really doesn't want to come to the party, does he?" Hans said.

"Who, Kristoff? No, he's just a whiner. It'll be fine, he'll have fun."

Hans chuckled. "Still. Seems kind of mean to force him."

"It's not mean!" Anna protested. "Look, it's my birthday, and I get what I want on my birthday, right?" She skipped, swinging her and Hans' clasped hands. "That's fair, isn't it? And what I want on my birthday is for my best friend to come to my party."

"And candied hazelnuts," Hans said, tipping his head towards the merchant.

Anna clapped her hands together. "Yes please!"

Hans headed towards the stall, where the people waiting in line graciously made way for him. Then young girl's voice cried, "Princess Anna! Hello!"

She turned. There, nearby, a gaggle of children were climbing and playing on a section of waist high fence. The girl who had called her balanced on the very top of the fence; seeing she had the Princess' attention, she attempted a curtsy. The gesture threw her off balance, and after teetering several long seconds she leapt to the ground while her friends laughed.

Anna laughed too, although more kindly. "Hello." She walked over and, in two quick steps, stood on top of the fence herself. One little boy gasped and jumped off, scrambling away. The rest watched in awe.

She liked children. Somehow their attention always felt welcome, maybe because they were honest with it. So might as well give them something to look at.

Anna steadied herself, planted her feet, and then executed a somewhat graceful curtsy, maintaining her balance all the while. The children laughed and cheered, and the girl who had fallen scrambled back up to join her.

"Can you do this?" the girl demanded. She turned, took two wobbly steps, and then stepped up on top of a fence post, before bailing and throwing herself into the hay again.

"Uh-oh." Hans had returned with the snacks, and watched Anna in amusement.

"What uh-oh? I can do this all day!" she said, right before a tremble in her legs sent her arms pinwheeling for balance. Hans hurried forward, but she was able to right herself. "Watch." She walked to the fence post (five steps for her as opposed to two for the girl), climbed atop it, and then lifted herself to her toes in a dancer's pose. The children hooted and hollered. She smiled and hopped down, right into Hans' arms.

"You're great with kids," he murmured. Before Anna could reply she felt a tug at her skirt. It was a little boy with unruly brown curls, the one who had jumped from the fence earlier. She crouched to speak with him.

"Um...this is for you," he said, and thrust a clenched fist towards her. She raised her hand, and chubby fingers unfolded to drop a shiny pebble into it. "For being the best balancer." His friends snickered.

"Thank you very much," she said warmly, smiling at him. He blushed from his throat to the roots of his hair and ran away again, his friends yelling and laughing all the while.

Hans offered a hand to help her up. "My Lord," she said solemnly, presenting him with the pretty stone.

"My Lady," he said, equally serious, and dropped the pebble into his breast pocket. He gave Anna a bag of hazelnuts and, to the noisy delight of the assembled children, gave them a second one to share.

"Is it about time to get ready for the party?" he asked.

"Is it?" He pulled out his watch, and Anna sighed. "I guess so. Goodbye!" She waved to the children, who saw them off with shouts of, "Goodbye!" and "Thank you!" and "Happy birthday!"

"I don't think I've actually told you happy birthday yet," Hans mused as they made their way towards the castle. "Happy birthday."

She laughed. "Thank you. It's been a really good one so far!"

"Well, it's only going to get better," he promised with a smile.

—

"I hate this part," Anna whispered. Half of the assembled royals were paying token attention to Kai as he began to introduce her, and the other half were already looking her way, ready to watch her as she walked across the front of the Great Hall.

The longheld law in Arendelle stated that a monarch could not be coronated until they came of age, because before that they were too young to understand the gravity of their oaths. However, a kingdom couldn't be without a monarch, and traditionally the Heir Apparent would take the title of King or Queen at their ascension even if the coronation was still some years away.

Anna had not taken the title. Her mother was Queen, and her father ruled, and even though she knew, _knew_, that her ascension was perfectly normal in the history of such things, she hadn't been able to bear the thought of usurping her parents' legacy like that. She was a Princess, still, and even if the title was little more than a delusion, it was one she needed. Maybe by the time she came of age she will have finally accepted the fact that she was the last member of House Arendelle. It was a bitter thought, and hearing Kai proclaim her full title always made her guts twist with remembered pain and a strange guilt she couldn't shake.

Hans' hand was tightly entwined with her own, and he brought them both to his lips to kiss the back of her palm. "I'll be right here," he said, like a promise. It was enough to buoy her.

"Her Majesty and Imminent Queen, Princess Anna of Arendelle." Kai raised his arm in presentation, and now every eye in the room was on her. She reluctantly disentangled her hand from Hans' and strode to the center of the dais.

The assembled crowd bowed or nodded to her, as befitting their station and their temperament. Her instinct, as always, was to bow in return, but that wasn't appropriate of a monarch being honored in her own kingdom. She was just supposed to stand there, completely still, and look regal, which happened to be two things she was terrible at. Then she saw Kristoff standing in the very back corner looking uncomfortable in his fine suit, and beamed and waved (not that he returned it, the brat).

The mood broke, and general chatter began again. She made to go see Kristoff, but before she could even descend the dais well wishers were beginning to line up to speak with her, and Hans was back at her side. Well, first things first, then.

The party passed in a blur of talking and laughing and dancing (at least now everyone knew that Hans was her dance partner and she didn't have to field quite so many requests from others) and probably more champagne than she should have had. But if she couldn't indulge on her birthday, when could she?

It was just about time to open the presents when she thought she heard someone calling her name through the chatter, and suddenly a hand shot out from the crowd to grab her arm. She gasped in surprise, and Kristoff jerked back like he had been burned.

"Kristoff!" she cried, and immediately relaxed into a happy smile. "There you are." She had seen him once or twice through the crowd, but there was always another dance, someone to talk to, Hans guiding her through the crowd or to the cake for another taste. She was happy to see him now at least.

Although he looked strange, muted and kind of uncomfortable. There were people watching them, of course, but that was normal. At least for Anna. Less so for Kristoff, she realized, and at the realization became somewhat uncomfortable on his behalf.

"How are you enjoying the party?" she asked, not knowing what else to say.

"It's lovely," he said, which may have been the most blatant lie he had ever uttered. "But I, uh...I know you're busy, so I just wanted to tell you good night. Um. Thank you for the invitation."

"Good night? It's not that late, is it?" She glanced at the clock, and wilted. It was still early enough for most of the party goers, who had minimal responsibilities the next day and were there to enjoy themselves, but Kristoff had a job and a schedule to keep. "Oh. Well, thank you for coming. Hey," she cried as he began to turn away. She wanted to reach for his hand, pull him back, but Hans was right there and, well. Boundaries. "I'll…" Oh. She couldn't exactly say she'd come see him later that night, not in front of all her guests, in front of Hans. Finally she settled on, "I still want my present," hoping he'd understand.

Maybe he did, because he was able to give her a proper smile. "Of course." Then he bowed to them both. "Princess Anna. Prince Hans. Good night."

"Good night," Hans said politely. Anna watched him go, and the way his entire body relaxed as soon as he hit the door. "Ouch," Hans whispered.

Anna sighed. "I probably shouldn't have made him come. Or talked to him more, at least. I guess I was being selfish."

"Hey." Hans rubbed a hand up and down her back and smiled at her. "It was a nice gesture. And it's your birthday, you can be a little selfish if you want."

"Yeah. Only a little though. No more of that." She nodded in resolve.

"Did you forget we're about to open presents?" Hans asked.

Anna clasped her hands together in excitement. "Okay, maybe just a little more selfishness."

—

"Do we really have to say goodbye to everyone?" she whined in Hans' ear, clinging to him rather more than was strictly necessary.

"Just the sober ones," he said with an indulgent smile, "and I'm not sure there's any of those left. Speaking of: more champagne?"

"No no," Anna said, shifting back to show she could stand on her own. Her vision was a touch out of sync, and her body felt just slightly disconnected, but her mind was clear and she wanted to keep it that way. "Hey, this is—are we done here? Will you come with me?"

"Anywhere," he said, and with a few more cursory nods good night they exited the Great Hall and made their way upstairs.

The going was slow, not because of any impairment on Anna's part, but just because she felt happy and warm and comforted and wanted to savor it. Light and noise poured still from the large doorways that opened to the Hall, but out here they were alone, and there was something deeply satisfying about the contrast. Or maybe she was just drunker than she thought.

She led them up to the mezzanine, and then towards the den. The sounds of the party faded behind them, and Anna thought her head was clearer without the distraction. They stopped, finally, in front of a set of portraits. One of the King and Queen in all their regalia, and one of little Elsa, looking perfectly prim and proper. It was the only portrait of the princess still displayed in the palace proper.

Memorial portraits. The black veil had been removed from her parents' picture one year after the funeral, as was customary. Elsa's portrait, as far as she knew, had never been veiled. Her parents had never been able to bring themselves to do that, at least.

She had come to see them often over the past three years, almost always alone. This was her family. All she had left of them. And she thought...she wanted Hans to see. The good things and the bad things. It was important, for so many reasons.

So she straightened her shoulders and pretended, just for a moment, that the people before them were made of more than oil and canvas. "Mama, Papa," she said, slipping her arm around Hans', "this is Prince Hans of the Southern Isles."

He bowed deeply, just as if the real King and Queen stood before them. "It is an honor," he said.

For a few minutes they stood in a silence that was somber, but not suffocating. "When Elsa disappeared," she began to say, her tongue tripping strangely over the name. Was it nerves, or simple disuse? "...I used to read books and things, about people who lived in the mountains or...people who got lost and eventually found their way home."

Hans was watching her, his eyes focused and his face utterly compassionate. She liked how he always seemed to know what to say. Liked even better that he knew when to hold his words.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "When, when my parents died, I just, I felt so lost. And then I remembered that, about Elsa, and I thought...it might help." Her hands were trembling just so on her arm, and he covered them with his own. "So I tried to read stories of shipwrecks and survivors and…"

All she had seen were storms and waves and driving rain, so hard as to blind. Tattered sails and crumbling masts and splintering wood. It had been a cruel mistake in the end, and one she had only brought on herself.

"It didn't work," she said—a woefully insufficient explanation, but the only one she could manage. "I guess I was too old to believe in that kind of thing anymore."

Hans ran his fingers gently down her cheek. "It's okay to want a family, Anna," he said, and for just an instant, before she could tamp down on it, she felt something warm and bright alight in her chest.

"Yeah," she said, only a little shakily, and turned to look at him. "But sometimes it's better to focus on the things we have, instead of the things we want."

He broke into a wide, easy smile, but suppressed it almost immediately in deference to the mood. Anna didn't want that. If she had learned anything in the last three years, it was that you had to cherish the happiness you did have.

"Let's go," she said, and led him out onto a balcony. The spring air was bracing, and she released him to lean against the railing with both hands and watch the stars.

"I still haven't given you my present," he said from somewhere behind her.

"Didn't you? There were so many 'from the Southern Isles' I couldn't keep track!"

"I did not." He tugged on her hand gently, turning her to face him. She watched, smiling—and then frowning in confusion when he dropped to one knee.

She saw the ring glittering in his hand before she processed it, and his intention hit her even as he opened his mouth to speak. "Anna," he said, "will you marry me?"

She cried out—a strangled noise that meant _yes yes yes!_ but almost certainly wasn't a word. She tried again: "_Yes_," almost choking on it, on the swell of emotion thrumming through her chest. "Oh, Hans, oh—"

He slipped the ring on her finger, and then stood to envelope her in a full body hug. She wanted to kiss him, but needed her mouth to breath. There were tears pricking her eyes, and it was to be expected, surely, but they made her throat a bit too tight and her face a bit too hot and she wished she could dismiss them.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she was sniffling but smiling so wide it hurt and it was wonderful and confusing and Hans was going to _marry_ her. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying, I'm so _happy_…"

He ran his finger through her hair, across her cheeks, under her eyes where there weren't tears yet, but only barely. "I wish I could have asked your parents for their blessing," he said and _oh_.

The tears that sprung now were heavy and real, and rolled down her cheeks unimpeded. Hans' face went from sincere to almost comically concerned in an instant, and she hiccuped and shook her head. "I'm okay. I'm—thank you." She took his chin, peppered kisses over his nose and lips. "Thank you." Proper kisses this time, because she felt she could breathe again. Because even with the tears, he had given her words for her sadness, and in doing so had somehow taken it from her.

He nuzzled his face against hers. "I love you," he said. "I want to spend my life with you. And I promise, you'll never be alone again." His eyes, when they locked with hers, were intense. "I will be your family. I'll be everything you need. I promise."

"All I need is you," she said, burying her face in his neck. "Just you."

They stood, swaying together, for a long time.

—

Hans insisted on walking her back to her chambers, of course. They kept getting sidetracked by tangled fingers and stolen kisses and palms ghosting across arms and chests and hips, but finally he deposited her in her room with one more deep kiss, then little kisses to all her fingers and on the back of her left hand last of all. "I love you," he murmured into her skin.

"I love you too," she said, her whole body light. Their eyes met, and it seemed almost a struggle for him pull away. But at last he did, stepping back and turning down the hall with an irrepressible smile on his face.

Anna closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing. She listened to his footsteps fading, listened to the silence afterwards for as long as she could bear, and then whipped open the door and raced towards the stables.

She burst through Kristoff's door without knocking at all. Sven brayed in alarm, and scrambled to his feet. Kristoff shot up with a cry, blinked at her, and then collapsed backwards.

"Anna. Go to sleep."

"I can't!" She tugged on his hands, forcing him to sit up while he whined and whimpered.

"I'll play you your song tomorrow, geez!" He scrubbed his face with both hands, which meant he was waking up despite his protests. "When do you even sleep? This is why you never wake up before noon, you know."

Her announcement stilled on her tongue; she had almost forgotten her present! "It won't be my birthday tomorrow," she said, anticipation making her excitement all the more palpable.

Kristoff grunted and finally consented to look at her. "It hasn't been your birthday for hours now."

She plopped herself on the bed in front of him. "Yes it is! New rule: My birthday lasts until dawn of the next day. Royal proclamation."

"Oh for..." He made to fall back again, and she grabbed his arm to keep him upright. "Anna!"

"Hans proposed!" She thrust her ringed hand towards him. He took it on instinct, and blinked sleepily before realization dawned on his face.

"Hans...Hans proposed?" She nodded, making a squeaking sound she couldn't quite suppress. "And, and you said—? I mean of course you said yes, that's why...you're…"

"I'm engaged!" Kristoff was focused intently on the ring, his face almost worryingly blank. It was the middle of the night, after all, and it was a lot to take in. Anna still almost couldn't believe it herself.

"Can you believe it?" she blurted when Kristoff didn't look to be able to speak. "I mean it's—there's so much to take care of, we have a lot to plan! I still have to meet his family, and he has a _lot_ of family—oh my gosh, I should send them a letter for the presents. Thanking them, I mean. Maybe one big group letter. He has _so_ many brothers. And they're going to be my brothers! Well, brothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law, and nieces and nephews—I gotta say, I was really happy to learn he had nieces. I thought maybe the men of the Southern Isles just produced, you know, more men! And now I'm going to have nieces!"

"Yeah, I mean that's...it's a big...family," Kristoff mumbled. He was idly running his thumb over the back of her knuckles and didn't look like he realized it; she turned her hand over to tangle with his.

"And then when we have a family," she said, and Kristoff's eyes shot to hers at that, "you'll be Uncle Kristoff and you can play with them and take them out exploring and sing to them. I may put you in charge of lullabies. And then when you get married…" She gasped, excited and delighted. "Kristoff, our kids can play together!"

"_Our_ kids?" His expression was relaxing, finally, and she felt her own tension relieve at that. "Aren't you getting way, _way_ ahead of yourself?"

"I can't help it, I'm so excited!" She threw her arms around his neck; his return embrace was fierce and tight.

"You're getting married," he mumbled against her shoulder. Even so it sounded like his voice was thick with tears. "Anna, I can't…"

"Hey, hey." She pulled back, stroked his cheeks, tried not to let her own tears fall. "It's okay. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He wiped at his eyes. "Sorry. I know this is huge. And wonderful. For you. I just." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It's a big change. And I guess I'm not...great, with change."

"This is a good change, I promise." She was kneeling on the bed in front of him, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "It just means our family is getting bigger."

"Our family. Yeah." He rubbed her left arm, his face turned towards the ring even though he couldn't see it from where she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"Will you sing me my song?" she asked. Because this was a big change and this was important, but other things were important too, and some things would never change.

"Yeah. I mean of course." She moved to sit in a chair while he fumbled for his lute. He spent a long time tuning it unnecessarily; she knew it was to give his throat a chance to clear, and waited patiently.

The songs themselves were rarely actually about Anna; he had tried that once or twice when he was younger, and while the results were memorable, they were mostly amusing. So it was always a surprise to hear what the song was about, or even if it would have words at all. Some of them hadn't.

This year's song was a story, about a little girl who found a house of eternal summertime, where every flower imaginable bloomed eternally, owned by a witch. The witch meant to trap her forever, and the beauty of the gardens captivated the girl, but in the end she had missed her family too bitterly. At the sight of her tears the flowers defied the witch's magic and showed her the way home.

It was lovely tale, made lovelier by the way Kristoff invoked the sights and feelings of summertime blooms in his music. "That was beautiful," Anna said softly when the last note finished ringing from the lute.

"It's yours," he said, as always.

"You're going to sing at our wedding," she said, inspired. Kristoff laughed quietly and put the lute away.

"I'm not sure Prince Hans will appreciate my music quite as much."

"Why wouldn't he?" Anna asked, and he just shrugged. "It's my wedding too; say you will."

Kristoff finally relaxed completely. "I will," he promised.

It wasn't that far off from dawn now, and even though the visit had been utterly necessary, Anna knew she shouldn't be seen coming in from Kristoff's bedroom at night. So she gave him one more hug, which he returned tightly, and took her leave.

"Hey," he said in the doorway, catching her hand. "Congratulations." She thought his eyes were concerned still, but his smile was earnest. And she loved him for trying so hard.

"Thank you," she said, and even though they were in the open now she darted one more quick kiss to his cheek. He stood in the doorway watching her until she disappeared inside the castle.

As soon as the castle door was closed the last of her wild excitement faded, and fatigue pressed on her heavily. She thought for a moment she wouldn't make it to her bedchambers; but it would be beyond embarrassing to be found sleeping in the hallway (again), so she firmed her resolve and headed for the stairs.

She paused at the mezzanine, not heading down the corridor, but glancing, briefly, towards the room where the portraits of her parents and sister were kept. The family she didn't have anymore. But she had a new family now, one she was making for herself. And it would just have to be enough.

For what remained of the night, Princess Anna of Arendelle slept very well.

* * *

Elsa couldn't sleep.

Jonne's eyes had popped open when she climbed out of their shared bedroll, but seeing that she wasn't in distress they had closed almost immediately. There wasn't any particular reason she was awake. It was just one of those nights where her mind had set to whirring and wouldn't calm.

Jonne had brought them an adventure storybook today. Elsa doubted she had known its contents before she turned it over, but she had been enthralled to hear Elsa reading it to Olaf. The stories had given way to games of pretend, and then the pretend had given way to a real pirate ship made of ice. Elsa had left Jonne and Olaf to it and gone back to her book.

Reading stories of princesses and princes and knights was strange to her. She had understood on some level as a child that she was royalty, but all that had meant to her then was that she lived in a castle and had to follow many rules. Now she had a castle still, and no rules but her own. It was an easy way to live, if unfulfilling.

Still. What else was there to do? Jonne had said they couldn't stay up there forever, and she may have been right, but she hadn't volunteered them any other place to stay either. And Elsa didn't want to wander forever. She wanted a home.

She wondered...only sometimes, and only when she was alone, but she wondered if she would have a home in Arendelle. If she went back.

Foolish thoughts. It had been too long, surely. There was no place for her in Arendelle.

But the mountain was no place for them either. So what to do?

"A little divine intervention would be nice," she muttered to whoever might be listening. There was no reply but the wind.

Well. Maybe miracles were difficult things to put together, and it would just take a little time. She was beginning to think nothing short of a miracle could put her mind at ease.

"Help me find my way home," she whispered. The north winds howled in response.


	8. Chapter 8

There was even more to take care of than Anna realized. Forget planning the wedding itself; before the engagement could even be officially announced there were laws to review and treaties to write and endless meetings to sit through. As the thirteenth son Hans was too far removed from reasonable succession for his marriage to confer any political rights to Arendelle, which disgruntled some of her advisors but she couldn't care less about. She thought, if anything, that would make the treaties easier to hammer out, but then again she had never known a bureaucrat to pass up a chance for meetings.

At least Hans was well prepared. He had preliminary papers from the Southern Isles already drawn up and ready to present. It was utterly unforgivable then that the council insisted on dragging negotiations out for weeks before finally settling on a treaty to send to the Southern Isles. Birgit, her head legal counsel, read it to them both in its entirety in a stupefying drone that very nearly managed to drive all thought from her head.

"Now then," she said once she finally finished, "are there any questions?"

Anna was eternally grateful Birgit had sat her down the night before to go over every part of the contract in detail. The language of law was complex and not a subject she had put much rigor into studying, but Birgit had explained it with as plain of words as she could. Basically their marriage was for political reasons little more than gesture of goodwill between their two nations. As sovereign Anna had more than enough political clout of her own to extend towards the Southern Isles if she so desired, but her lawyers had insisted that favor should be matched by favor, and since Hans came with none they extended none in return. That was what she was most worried about; that Hans' father would reject the treaty for that reason. But apparently it was bad business sense to open with a high bid.

The clinical terms of the arrangement put a bad taste in her mouth, but it had to be done. And now, hopefully, it was a step closer to being finished. So she smiled tightly and said, "No. Thank you, Birgit."

Hans shook his head as well, and reached for his copy of the documents. "I will take these to my father."

"Very good," Birgit said. She set her papers down only to pick up another stack. "Now then, Your Majesty, while I have you perhaps we can begin talking about the ceremony."

"Oh!" Well that was an odd topic for a lawyer, but she had been thinking about almost nothing else in her spare time and was happy for the opportunity to start putting plans together. She clasped her hands and said, "Well I've been thinking about it, mostly the catering—okay well mostly dessert, I mean besides the cake—and flowers and stuff. I know the crocus are going to feature heavily, but I was also thinking marigolds. Just lots of warm colors, you know?" Birgit was staring at her flatly, and Hans was silent, and she was beginning to think she was very confused. "...Is this about the guest list?"

"Not the wedding," Birgit said, her tone reproachful enough that Anna felt her whole face going scarlet. "Your coronation."

"My what?" Anna asked. She found herself floundering at the sudden change of conversation. "But why would we—I mean, why?"

Birgit cleared her throat and said, "A sovereign heir is considered to have come of age on the event of her twenty-first birthday—"

"Yeah, but I'm not—"

"—_or_ on her eighteenth birthday or the day of her marriage, whichever comes second, if she is wed before her twenty-first year." She shuffled the papers again and set them down to look at Anna.

Of course, Anna realized now, she had known about that proviso in Arendelle's laws of succession. But she hadn't connected the letter of the law to the hopeful look in Hans' eyes when he took a knee and gave her a ring, and now she was utterly blindsided.

"But we don't have to, right?" she finally asked, and thought Birgit's gaze sharpened in annoyance. "I just mean," she said quickly, hoping to diffuse her disdain, "I've been focused on my wedding, and I wasn't even thinking about that, and I guess I forgot and it's just come out of nowhere, you know?"

"You have time to plan for your wedding, and for the coronation," Birgit said easily. "There are no deadlines in place yet, so there's no reason to think it will be a burden."

It was the _crown_. It was the heaviest burden Anna would ever bear, and she was not ready for this. She felt her face blanche and her heart thump, and was sinking back instinctively.

Even as she cringed backwards, Hans leaned forward to relieve her. "Assuming we set a date for the wedding, is there a timetable for the coronation?" he asked. He was aware and understanding of her reluctance to take the throne, and surely he out of anyone must have known how suddenly frightened she was.

"Sooner would be better," Birgit said. "Honestly I would not be opposed to same day or even a combined ceremony. That's why I believe planning for the coronation will prove a higher priority than the wedding."

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Hans was there first. "Why is it so important? Arendelle is running well right now, isn't it?"

Birgit frowned. "Arendelle runs like clockwork, milord, but the fact is that the kingdom needs a Queen."

Anna tried to speak again. "Wh—"

"Theoretically, what's the harm to Arendelle if the coronation were to be delayed?" Hans asked. She glared at him, and he grimaced apologetically and sat back from where he had been leaning forward. He was a natural leader and had already shown a keen interest in the legal workings of Arendelle and only meant to help, surely. But Anna sometimes wished he was more willing to let her learn her own way, as difficult as the fumbling might be.

However, it was hard to deny that it had been a good question. Birgit leaned back herself and pursed her lips as she thought. "The greatest blow would be the people's confidence in the throne of Arendelle." She looked on Anna. "In the end you are monarch and the citizens of Arendelle live and die by your word. But how is a citizen supposed to trust a throne that their monarch refuses to sit on?" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Your Majesty, I agreed to leave you your title three years ago even though it would cause a lack of confidence in your rule because I knew you made the request from a place of grief. But you are now embarking on a much happier journey, are you not? There is no reason to wait any longer."

"I understand," she said numbly. It wasn't the same as _I agree_, and everyone in the room knew it. "Is that all for the treaty, Birgit?" she asked, posture stiff and voice firm.

She frowned. "For now, Your Majesty." Anna nodded and dismissed the lawyer.

As the door closed behind her Anna let out of slow breath and sunk back into her chair. "I'm an idiot," she moaned, covering her face with her hands.

"You are not." Hans peeled one of her hands away to clasp with his own. "You've just had a lot on your mind. That's why you have advisors, right? To take care of things for you."

"Yeah." She toyed with his fingers. "After all that I was worried the treaty was going to mess things up, and it's going to be the stupid coronation."

"Wait, why would the coronation mess things up?" She looked up to see Hans' normally warm face wrinkled with concern.

"Well not really mess things up, but…" She sighed and concentrated on their joined fingers again. "I've just been preparing myself for a coronation on my twenty-first birthday. I thought I had three more years. Although," she laughed a little, hoping to lighten the mood, "I guess there's not a big rush on the wedding right now, right?"

"No, but," Hans said slowly, "are you trying to say you want to wait three years for our wedding?"

"No!" she cried, squeezing his hand. The relief on his face was palpable, and she was instantly ashamed. "No, that would be terrible! But we-we have time, and it's just something I need to start thinking about. That's all."

"Hey." Hans lifted his second hand so that he could wrap both around Anna's. "I'd wait a thousand years for you." Then he gave a self-deprecating chuckle and said, "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be with you right now. Now, and forever."

"I want to be with you too," Anna promised.

He turned over their joined hands. Her engagement ring caught the light and sparkled up at her. "I know this scares you," he said soothingly. "But you won't be alone in this anymore. I will be right here beside you." His gaze was calm and intense.

"I know you will," Anna said. But for once it wasn't enough to banish her niggling fear.

—

Once the treaty was finalized Hans could only stay another week before he finally had to return home to present news of her acceptance and take care of any lingering legal business on his end. Over the course of the week they had finally been able to start planning the actual ceremony, although they were no closer to setting a date. Hans it seemed favored summer or fall, while Anna had been hesitantly intimating at a spring date, knowing it was too short a time to manage this year and hoping she might get a reprieve until the next.

It was the ploy of a coward, and Hans knew her too well to be fooled. There was a certain stiffness when they said their goodbyes, and as much as she wanted to banish it the words caught in her throat.

She felt terrible as she watched the _Colichemarde_ pull away from the dock. She felt worse three weeks later, when a sudden and vicious storm took the city by surprise.

She did not dwell on the fact that Hans' ship was much too far out to be affected by a storm in Arendelle, because if she did she'd also have to wonder where exactly the storm came from and if he might have passed through it. Those thoughts were locked deep away, and she occupied herself instead with the arranging of emergency services and managing the glut of refugees that rushed to the castle looking for someplace warm and dry to wait out the deluge.

It was after a rather spirited argument with a steward about how much they could reasonably dip into the food stores without causing problems later on that she heard a commotion near the front entrance.

"A doctor, please!" someone yelled, and she rushed forward to see a tall, broad shouldered man, muddied and bloodied, being supported on either side.

"Captain Halvard?" The guardsman jerked his head up to look at her, and she gasped at the mass of bruises and scrapes covering his face, and at the unnatural angle of his arm. "Take him to the sitting room," she said at once. "Fetch my doctor."

Halvard had been leading the guard at least since Anna's birth. He was a rough, grizzled man whose strength had yet to be tempered by his age. Seeing him pale faced and trembling, having to be half dragged to the couch, made her more nervous than the thunder ever could.

Anna perched in a chair next to him. "Captain, what happened?"

He appeared agitated, his head shaking and his eyes unfocused and darting around the room. "My horse...lost my horse." His lips were blue tinged, and his breath much too shallow. "Looking...fell," he managed, and then lurched to the side.

She cried out and dove forward, supporting him as the wet mud leached into her dress. Almost instantly there were more hands reaching out to help, but from this distance Anna could hear Halvard muttering to himself, his voice thin and weak. "Lost, lost, always...here, what this...Princess?"

"I'm right here, Captain," she said, her own voice trembling. "Ssh, it's fine, no one's lost."

"No, can't...can't find her." His head tipped back. She would have thought him unconscious if his chest wasn't still heaving so mightily.

"Your Majesty." Anna's head spun to see the doctor, finally arrived. "He's in shock. Please, allow me."

She immediately stood to let the doctor take her place. As she began to back towards the door Halvard's eyes suddenly shot open and met hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice abruptly, astonishingly clear. "I couldn't find her. I'm sorry." Then someone in the gathered crowd stepped between them, and when she saw Halvard again his eyes were closed his breath easier. Anna was left confused and disquieted.

Surely...surely he had been talking not about Anna, but about Elsa. The lost princess. But why now? What of the storm had reminded him? Elsa hadn't disappeared during a storm...had she?

Anna was faced, suddenly, with how very little she knew. So much of Elsa's disappearance was mere rumor. She herself could remember far enough back to when she and Elsa had played together, but she had been so young when Elsa disappeared that growing up it had simply seemed an immutable fact. Elsa was lost; she may or may not be dead; she would probably never come home; and no one in the royal family talked about it. That had been the one abiding rule. Elsa couldn't be found, so she was all but forgotten.

Of course Anna had questions, now. Of course she wanted to know what had happened. But at fifteen she had still trusted in the words of her parents, both its truthfulness and its integrity. If she had thought about it (which she hadn't; even with her portrait overlooking Anna's bed every night Elsa crossed her mind with shameful irregularity), she would have assumed then that if there was something she needed to know her parents would have told her.

She knew now that was folly. Households, and particularly royal courts, were built on half-truths and omissions. It wasn't even necessarily cruel; simply inevitable. She should have asked more questions. She should have pressed harder. It might not have meant much, but at least she would have known.

Yes, it was very easy to see that now that it was much too late. Her parents were in the end the only ones who knew the full truth, and they had taken it to their grave. And Anna probably would have let it rest until she lay in her own.

But now her long suppressed curiosity awakened. Maybe, just maybe, she could begin constructing her own truth. She thought she knew now where to start.

—

The storm raged into the night, but by the next morning the clouds had dissipated completely, and the sun shone merrily as people began to clean mud and tree branches from their homes and streets. Halvard, she learned, suffered a broken arm, a probable concussion, and a significant amount of blood loss from assorted gashes. He was also expected to make a full recovery. Anna expected nothing less.

It was late evening by the time a servant reported to her and the captain was awake and aware. When she entered his quarters his face immediately settled into its normal mask of professionalism before pinching slightly in displeasure when he realized he couldn't pay his respects with his usual bow.

"Captain," she said warmly, taking a seat near his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Hale, Your Majesty," he said, which was almost certainly an exaggeration. "I apologize for my carelessness and the impact it will have on my duties."

"You have nothing to apologize for," she assured him. "But what were you doing out in that storm?"

"There were reports of bandits in the east mountains," he said. "My men and I were investigating."

"But your men returned hours before you did, before the first rain began to fall."

Halvard's expression was perfectly composed, but then it always was. "I had my own business to carry out. Nothing I need concern my men with."

She smoothed her skirt. It was possible that the captain had been engaged with personal business the night before; an investigation was surely a good cover for visitations of a more illicit nature. But Halvard had always been a consummate professional. More pressing was his strange speech, about searching and princesses and being lost.

"Last night," she said, "when you came in, you were disoriented. You were asking for a princess. I thought you said you were searching. You...perhaps you don't know, or don't remember, but I thought maybe you were thinking about my sister." She met his eyes. "About Elsa."

He frowned, the expression distorted by his cut and swollen face. "I suppose I was, Your Majesty. I have been for thirteen years now. Princess Elsa's loss was my greatest failing." His eyes were focused on the distance, remembering something that was by now surely lost to Anna. "I know there is no forgiveness for the dereliction of my duties. But I will give my life for Arendelle if I can in some small way atone for my mistake."

"Captain." Her heart squeezed painfully. "It wasn't your fault. You weren't there, were you? Even you can't be everywhere in Arendelle at once."

"That I wasn't there is the greatest fault," he said roughly. "The King and Queen left on their own, but my men should have been vigilant enough to stop them, or at least to arrange an escort or a tail."

"So...you didn't know that my parents were taking us from the castle?" she asked. "I'm, I'd like to understand what happened. I don't know, really, and...she was my sister."

Halvard's eyes were mournful and understanding. He told what he knew, which was little enough: The royal family, abruptly leaving the castle in the middle of the night. The Queen returning with Anna and Kristoff in tow, summoning the guards to search for Elsa. The search that lasted for months and revealed nothing. And the King's tight lipped silence on the reason for their flight, saying only that nothing mattered except finding Elsa.

They hadn't found her, and Anna thought it mattered very much after all. "Then it was only on your mind last night?" she asked.

He shifted uncomfortably. Their talk was keeping him engaged and upright longer than a man with his wounds should be, but he would never say a word against it. "Though I know there's nothing to be found, I sometimes visit the forest where Princess Elsa was lost." He paused to steady himself, and Anna was moved at his dedication to his duties. "When I dismissed my men yesterday it was very close to that same wood, and I returned again. That is where I was when the storm hit. On the way back my horse took a fall and was too injured to move, so I returned on my own."

He was, even now, searching for Elsa. Anna felt something weak and fluttering in her chest. She had assumed, after watching her parents' fade, after smothering her own, that there was no hope left. But here was Halvard, pushing his body to injury for the princess no one thought could be found.

"Will you take me to the woods?" she asked, mind and heart racing. "I want to see for myself."

"As soon as you command it," he said at once.

She gently squeezed the hand that was not bound up in a cast. "There's time. You heal." Even as she said it she could feel her patience being worn away. It had been thirteen years, and here at last maybe she could have answers.

She left him to his rest and spent a long time pacing the halls in thought.

—

That night she spent some time studying the family portrait hanging in her room. Looking at it now, she could see how remarkably Elsa took after their mother. That white-blond hair was all her own though, found nowhere else in the family except for the discolored streak in Anna's own mane. Anna tried to picture what she might look like now, if she were to be found. She would be grown. Perhaps tall? Anna could only see her as the taller of the two of them, but they were both surely done with growing and maybe she would have finally caught up. Was her hair still blond? Most children with such light locks saw them darken over time (Kristoff, as he usually was, being an oddity), and their parents had darker hair after all. But that too didn't feel right.

The Elsa in her mind was tall, with white-blond hair and bright blue eyes. Well, her eyes would surely be the same, at least. She also held a regal bearing and a barely-there, distant smile that stumped Anna, until she realized she was having Elsa mimic the poses she had for so long seen in the portraiture hanging on the walls. She shifted her thoughts. Now Elsa was smiling widely, laughing, slim fingers half covering her mouth.

It was shockingly easy to imagine and, perhaps strangest of all, not fraught or heavy like Anna would have expected thoughts of her sister to be. Remembering the sister she had lost would always be tinged with pain. But imagining the woman Elsa had become was somehow comforting, almost. Or perhaps hopeful.

Hoping was much harder now than it had been when Anna was growing up. But just for tonight, at least, she would cling to it.

—

She gave Halvard as much time to heal as she could. In the end though she could wait no more than a fortnight. Kristoff had agreed to ride along without protest. He, too, likely knew more about that night than Anna did, though personally she was gladder for his comfort than his knowledge.

They were a fairly motley crew: Halvard in a sling but guiding his horse ably enough. Her in her riding clothes and Kristoff seated behind, because living in the same building as the horses hadn't granted him any particular skill in equestrianism. And Sven, as ever, tagging alongside.

The ride was quiet and tense. The captain was a taciturn man, and Kristoff wasn't much better. Anna was a rambler, but today her head felt too full to let any words out.

"That's where I took the fall," Halvard said suddenly, nodding to the right. Anna looked to see a steep embankment, with deep grooves dried into the mud. There were tracks where someone had gathered what was left of the horse and dragged it away. Her stomach turned.

"I'm glad you're okay!" she chirped, so incongruously cheerful it grated. She was silent for the remainder of the ride.

When Halvard finally pulled his horse to a stop, it was in the middle of a section of forest she couldn't tell from any other.

Then she saw, starting at the bottom of a small hill, a dirt path worn through the grass. And she stiffened.

"The day you snuck off and went exploring, your father came straight here." Halvard was watching her steadily. "All he had to know was someone had seen you headed for the hills, and he came straightaway."

"Why did he think I'd be here?" she asked, fingers trembling.

Halvard's expression became ponderous. "I can't speak to his mind, milady. But judging from his face it wasn't a thought so much as a fear."

She had been here. She had been right where Elsa had disappeared. She had followed the same path, or close to it. And she hadn't known. She had no idea.

"Thank you, Captain." Her voice had taken on an strange, rough quality, and she cleared her throat to try and force it back to normal. "I think I'd like to stay here for a while. I will return to the castle shortly."

"I'll stay with you, milady."

"No," she said, and was distantly surprised at the sharp tenor of her voice. "That won't be necessary. I'll be back before nightfall."

Halvard, perhaps to his credit, stood his ground. "This is a sorry place, Your Majesty, and it has already taken you sister. I will not leave you."

"You will," she said, and if her voice was sharp before it was barbed and razor-fine now. "That is an order." She forced in a deep breath, loosened her white knuckled grip on the reins, and when she spoke again she had regained some measure of normalcy. "And I won't be alone." Behind her Kristoff half choked on a gasp.

That obviously wasn't enough for Halvard. But he was a military man, well trained to follow orders, so with a final withering look to Kristoff he consented to take his leave. As he rode off Kristoff muttered, "Anna, I'm not a guardsman."

"I don't need a guardsman, I need my best friend." She glanced back at him. "What, are you scared we're going to get kidnapped by witches or something?"

"Maybe?" he said with a grimace, looking around. "This whole thing is weird." His eyes darted to hers before flitting away. "Hey, uh, are you alright? That was kinda…"

"I know." She sighed and rubbed her face. "I don't know. I mean, no, I'm really not." There was too much to say, too many questions, so in the end she said nothing at all.

Kristoff slipped off the horse and strode forward to stare into the woods. "Did you know where we were going? Back then?" she asked.

"Hey, I wasn't leading that day. Sven was."

She turned to Sven. "Did you know?" They stared at each other for a moment, then she looked to Kristoff, who shrugged. "Okay, fine. What _do_ you remember?"

Kristoff took several long steps backwards and looked in the direction of the castle. "We must have been back that way. Right? Yeah, yeah, because when we did head to the castle it was the other way. So: It was night. Me and Sven saw these horses go by, really fast. And we decided to follow them."

He paused for a moment, eyes tracking the path they must have taken. "So we're chasing after them, but we're not close. And then…" He pointed deeper into the forest as though searching for figures on the horizon. "...I saw a girl fall off the horse." He slowly shifted his hand so that he was pointing to the worn patch of dirt. "Which I guess would actually have been here. And she ran that way." His hand lifting now, towards the forest where Elsa had disappeared. "The horses were still going, I guess, but me and Sven went to follow her."

"They were leaving her?" Anna asked, voice trembling. Because no. No, that couldn't be right.

Kristoff seemed to realize his implication as well. "I mean it happened in, in a second. And we didn't watch to see if they turned around, we just kept going. And it turns out the Queen was right behind us, so…"

"My mother was…" Anna looked to the woods, up the trail, and back again. "Where was my father?"

"Wait, wait, okay. Uh." Kristoff put a hand to his chin in thought. "So we were chasing her, but she was too fast and we lost sight of her. And then your mother ran up, and we were like, 'She went that way!' and she ran off. And your father showed up a little while later, and he had you. Then they were both searching, and you were crying, I remember that."

Anna chewed on her lip. "You say a while...how long was it? Do you remember?"

"Uh…" He scrubbed at his head vigorously before giving up. "I...no, I really have no idea."

She wilted, surprised at her own disappointment. "I really don't remember you there at all," she sighed.

"What do you remember?" Kristoff was watching her now, but all she could do was shrug.

"I remember being cold and scared. I remember my mother holding me. I think I had nightmares after we got back. But the whole thing feels like half a nightmare, and I don't know what was real."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it's kind of the same for me." He sighed heavily, and looked back to the woods. "What do you want to do? Do you...we could go searching a bit?"

"No," Anna said. Surely every inch of the woods had already been explored by guardsmen who would know better than her what to search for. And, honestly, after thirteen years there couldn't have been anything left of Elsa that wouldn't be a horror to find.

She looked instead back to the castle, then in the opposite direction, through the trees. "You said the horses were still going that way. And if they turned around it was only because Elsa fell."

Kristoff followed her gaze. "Yeah. And they were in a hurry."

They shared a brief glance, and then started forward, travelling further from the castle with every step.

—

"From here if you go south you'll have a pretty decent path to the ocean, just small hills and stuff," Kristoff said, pointing. "If you go northwest, you can hook around and you'll eventually hit a pass. You'd want to do it soon though, because the terrain in this area starts getting pretty rocky."

"What's up here if you keep going?" Anna asked.

He shrugged. "I don't think I've ever been here exactly, but there's not much. If we keep going this direction we'll eventually hit the cliff face. Then we can go south to the shore, or I think you can push a bit further north, but it's all cliffs and crags. There's nowhere to go."

"Then we'll go as far as we can," she said.

At the cliff face they turned to the north, since there was no earthly reason to head towards the sea from the mountains when Arendelle Castle sat right on the harbor. Around them Anna could see the sharp peaks of the mountains, rugged and nearly vertical, so steeply they rose. It looked almost as though they had been chiseled. "This whole area is closed in?"

"I guess." Kristoff and Sven looked around as well, and even Anna's horse seemed caught up in the mood, his step just a touch shy and hesitant. Soon enough she could see yet another cliff rising in front of them, blocking their way completely. There was nowhere else to go.

She dismounted to join Kristoff, tying her mount's lead to a nearby tree just in case. "Well," she said, glancing around, "there's a lot of rocks."

"You know, I've heard some people call this The Valley of the Living Rocks."

Anna nudged a particularly smooth mossy boulder. It swayed, and then fell back into place. "Were these people drunk?"

"No," Kristoff said. Then Sven added, "_Maybe_."

She sighed, running her hands through her hair and scrubbing her cheeks in frustration. There hadn't really been any reason to think they would find anything, not more than a decade later, after the Royal Guard had already so thoroughly combed the mountains and she was years removed from being able to ask her parents. But a small part of her had hoped all the same.

Aggravated and impotent, she drove her heel into the boulder again. It swayed...and then kept leaning, much further than Anna could have possibly propelled it, until it had turned a full circle and kept rolling merrily off into the distance.

"What the—" Kristoff cut himself off with a yell, and an instant later Anna felt something brush her leg and cried out. It was another rock, rolling after the first—and then another, and another, more than she could count, veering around them to gather in the middle of the valley.

"Kristoff!" She darted past the rocks to clutch at his arm. Sven danced next to them, braying loudly, and her horse tugged desperately at his lead with a shrill whinny.

The rocks stopped, and then turned once more, not turning _over_ but turning _into_ small, thick creatures with gray skin and wide eyes.

"It's the Queen!" one of the creatures cried, and the cry echoed all throughout the valley.

"Anna." Kristoff swallowed thickly. "Are those…?"

"Trolls," she breathed, wonder and childlike excitement blooming in her chest.

"Your Majesty!" One of the trolls bounced up—they had an incredibly high jump considering they were, well, rocks—and grabbed her hand. The difference in their heights meant Anna was jerked a bit on the downswing, and she lost ahold of Kristoff. "Oh, you've grown up so nicely, let me look at you!"

"You've gotten so tall!" cried another.

"Look at her eyes!" "Check her teeth!" "Such fine features!" "Why are her hands so soft?" "Let me see!"

"Oh, um, thank you. I think." Her current half-crouch was awkward, so she settled on her knees. Immediately there were more hands touching her arms, her knees, her cheeks, playing with her braids and the hem of her shirt. "Um. You're all very...friendly."

"Is this your prince?" one of the smaller ones asked, pointing to Kristoff.

He immediately grimaced. "No, no, no, that's someone else. Anna and I are friends."

"Oh come on Kristoff," she said with a smirk. "Show them some of your princely manners!" Immediately the trolls cheered and gathered around him, giving her a bit of space to breathe.

"It's Grand Pabbie!" someone cried, right as Anna noticed a faint rumbling. It grew steadily louder, then a boulder slowed in front of her, and another troll, stooped with age, emerged.

"Your Majesty," he said with a bow. Around him some of the others seemed to realize their faux pas, and belatedly bowed as well. "May I?"

Anna tried to glance back at Kristoff without turning her head, but he was out of her vision. "...Yes?" she ventured.

The troll—Pabbie, she guessed—gently took her chin. He turned her head to look at the right side of her...face? Hair? Her ear? Whatever he saw evidently satisfied him, because he hummed happily and released her. "You've healed well. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Uh…" Finally Kristoff made his way to her, and as soon as he was within distance her hand shot out to grab his and yank him down next to her. He grunted and possibly glared, but Anna was too focused on Pabbie to check. "Well," she tried, "I'm, I'm a little confused. What exactly have I healed from?"

Pabbie reached out to gently touch her head, and she realized suddenly he was touching the spot where the white streak bloomed. "A magic wound, Your Majesty, suffered when you were just a child."

Next to her Kristoff drew in a sharp breath, and Anna's hand drifted up to her head as well, brushing Pabbie's as he withdrew. "Magic?" Kristoff asked, shuffling forward. "Like, she was cursed?"

"Thirteen years ago," Anna whispered. She forced her voice louder and said, "It was thirteen years ago, wasn't it?"

Pabbie nodded. "You were cold and still, and so small, when your father brought you to me and asked me to remove the magic. You were lucky it was not a more serious injury."

Anna was for some reason intimately aware of her heart racing, of her blood rushing in her ears. She was dizzy with realization. Here was the reason her parents had carried them into the woods. Here, at last, was _why_.

Or the beginning of it, at least. The most important piece was still missing. "Can we talk about this magic thing?" Kristoff was asking. "Because I'm kind of—"

"No," Anna said.

"—wonder...what?"

"My sister." Her hand was stretched towards Pabbie, and trembling. "Was she with him? Do you know what happened to her?"

Pabbie carefully took her hand. His skin was rough and rigid as stone, but as supple as flesh in its movements. It felt distinctly unnatural. She clutched at him anyway. "I do not," he said, and the disappointment was so crushing she felt faint. He tugged sharply on her arm to keep her upright. "Anna. Listen to me. There is much you don't understand. I will try to explain."

Kristoff's arm, solid and firm, slipped around her shoulders. Bolstered, she found the strength to nod.

Paddie centered himself, and drew in a deep breath. "You sister was born with a great magic. I wish it had not taken a tragedy for your father to seek us out; we would have gladly helped her. She had the power to create snow and ice. It was her ice that pierced you that night."

"Wait, ice?" Kristoff blurted. "There was—there was really ice?"

Anna looked to him. Of all the times for his ice thing. "Kristoff—"

"No no," he said quickly, waving his hands. "I mean, I remember ice that night. That's why I followed the horses. Because there was ice trailing after them."

She stared. He looked completely earnest. Finally she accused, "You didn't say that before!"

"I thought it was a dream! Like I was getting my dreams mixed up with my memories." Of course he dreamt about ice. He tore his eyes away to study the ground, then looked to Pabbie. "But that means…Elsa cursed Anna?"

"No!" Anna said immediately. "She wouldn't!" But doubt, which had begun trickling as Pabbie spoke, was now solidifying. The Elsa of her memories was warm and kind and clever. She had been Anna's best friend. What she was not was magical. It had been so long; what did she really remember? What else did she not know? Had she wanted a sister so desperately that her memories had pieced together a perfect one, and she didn't really know Elsa at all?

She was pulled from her thoughts when Pabbie squeezed her hand gently (but painfully—he was exceptionally strong). "An accident," he said, "occurring during a game." Anna was flooded with relief. Her heart would surely collapse and stop if she didn't find an emotion to settle on soon. She remembered belatedly, shamefully, that Kristoff's memories were firmer than he had realized. She shouldn't have doubted her own. "She never meant to hurt you," Pabbie said.

"But…" She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, squared her shoulders, drew in a breath to steady herself. "You helped me. Why couldn't you help her?"

"She was too far gone. Your father returned the next night, and asked us to help find her. But she was far beyond our reach. I couldn't feel her anymore." He fell silent, and Anna realized she was out of questions.

So then...was that all? It was more than she had honestly believed she would ever learn about Elsa's disappearance, but it was woefully incomplete. She still didn't know the most important thing: _Where did my sister go?_

"You didn't, uh, know about that, did you?" Kristoff asked her, scratching his chin awkwardly. "'Cause I mean maybe I should have said something about what I saw, but if you knew your sister had ice magic, you just, you should share that information."

In any other circumstance she would have rolled her eyes at him. Instead she said, "I had no idea." Which was almost the strangest part. Not that Elsa had magic, but that Elsa had magic and had hidden it from her. "I thought we were so close, but I guess she never told me."

"A side effect," Pabbie said, and they both looked at him. He smiled warmly. "Magic is a tricky thing; to be safe I removed all magic from your head, even your memories of magic, in case any ice was hiding within them."

"Wait, what?" Anna tugged her hand from his as she tried desperately to parse this new information. "You took my memories?" Was that why, when she tried to recall the night Elsa had disappeared, she felt only confused and distant? Was that the secret her parents had been keeping, not just from the court but from Anna herself? That her very mind had been tweaked and altered while she was unable to protest? When her hand shook now it was with indignation and anger.

"Not entirely," he said, completely calm even though he was talking about _stealing Anna's memories_. "I took only the magic from them. Your play, your fun, the joy you shared with your sister—these I left."

"I don't...What does that…?"

"Remember," he said, as though he hadn't just told her she _couldn't_, "a time when you played with your sister in the snow. What you remember is real; what you don't remember is that maybe Elsa made this snow herself. Maybe you played in the ballroom instead of in the courtyard. That is the only difference."

"That's a big difference!" Anna shrieked. Beside her Kristoff jolted and made to speak, but she flapped her hands to silence him. "You can't just take someone's memories!"

Around them some of the trolls were murmuring and shuffling back, but Pabbie was still and composed. "When your father brought you to me, he bade me to do whatever I must in order to help you. Please believe, Your Majesty, that I did only what I believed necessary."

"Well...put them back!"

He shook his head. "I cannot."

She might have struck him if she wasn't sure doing so would only break her hand. "My father might have told you is was alright back then but _I'm_ sovereign now and I say—"

"It is impossible," Pabbie interrupted. "The wound has mended, and the memories are gone. They do not exist. In the same way a scratch will heal and be no more, so has your mind healed. I can no more return your memories than you can reopen a long closed cut."

Anna gaped, her rage temporarily deflected and muddled. "You can recreate a cut though," she finally said, "if you take a knife to the same place."

"But you will simply inflict a new wound, separate from the old." His expression was kind, but perfectly firm. "I'm sorry, but it cannot be done."

And that, in the end, was that.

—

The ride back was silent. Behind her Anna could hear Kristoff occasionally draw breath to speak, half a sound escaping on the exhale before the words died on his lips. Sven trailed far behind them, having intuited that he would not be quite welcome at Anna's side. She was glad for both shows of discretion; her body was rigid and restless with something that was almost too bitter for anger, and she didn't want it to spill out onto them.

At the stable Gunnar and his young apprentice waited. Anna slid from the saddle without a gesture of acknowledgement to either, and stalked to the far end of the building to pace in quick lines back and forth. She thought she saw Kristoff whisper to Gunnar, jerking his head towards the door. Between the two of them they undressed the horse faster than should have been possible, then Gunnar dragged the stable boy away by the collar, and they were left alone.

Kristoff made his way over to Anna, standing in the middle of the aisle while she paced past him. He inhaled deeply and braced himself as if expecting a blow. When she still didn't speak, his breath escaped in a stuttering burst.

"Anna…" he said, and that was all it took to pierce the thin veil she had drawn over her anger.

"How could he?" she fumed. "How _dare_ he? How—" She reached the wall, spun so sharply on her heel she was dizzy for it, and stalked the opposite direction. "How could I have not _known_?"

"He...he said he was trying to help you," Kristoff said, his tone apologetic. "He said he had to. Anna, I know...well, I don't, I don't know, but I-I get it. Why you're upset." Anna looked to him, and he flinched at whatever he saw on her face. She concentrated on the floor instead. One foot in front of the other, step, step, step, pivot, and step again. "But...you're here now. You're okay. It worked. I mean, does that…?"

"If he had to take my memories, fine," she bit out. "_If_ that was the only way, fine. But they should have been put back. I should have known."

"Maybe he couldn't," Kristoff offered. "Maybe it's like, once it was safe to, they were gone? Once you were healed—"

"Memories aren't made from magic!" she snapped. "And it doesn't take magic to have them!" She stopped, stomped both feet firm on the ground, and directed all of her attention to Kristoff. "Hey, you know how Elsa apparently had ice powers?"

"Uh, yes?" he said, bracing himself again.

"And how did you know that?"

"...The troll told me?"

"_Exactly_!" She spun to resume her pacing, because she thought she might lash out in a much more destructive way if she didn't have some outlet to her energy. "And guess what? It didn't have to be a troll! My parents knew the whole time, and they never said anything!"

"Maybe they would have?" Kristoff offered carefully. "I mean, later on, if..."

Normally the reminder that her parents had spent entirely too short a time with her would have made her chest seize, her heart plummet. But if there was grief to be had, it was buried and burned by the heat of her fury and the weight of their betrayal. "I'm not a child. I wasn't then. They had ten years to tell me, and they didn't."

On her next turn she saw that Kristoff was approaching her, his arms raised and reaching. She jerked away and hunkered like a wounded animal. "I lost my sister and they never told me why!" she shouted.

"Anna—"

"And it sure would have been nice to know about the trolls! Glad that never came up!" She laughed bitterly. "What was I supposed to do if I got cursed again? Just die, I guess, because my father talked about responsibility and how I would have to lead the kingdom, but apparently he didn't trust me enough to tell me things I needed to know." She spun to pace in a new direction. "Oh, and speaking of Elsa, it's great that the guards spent all that time searching for her when they didn't even know what they were looking for! 'Look for a girl with ice powers' would have been a lot more useful than 'Look for a girl who's about 20 and may or may not be blond anymore and also could be any girl in the world!'"

"Yeah, it's...yeah," Kristoff muttered, and when Anna looked at him she thought she saw his face darken. "But, but you know now. So you're…" He met her eyes. "Are you going to look for her again?"

The question brought her up short, so roughly that she nearly stumbled. "Am I…? I…" In an instant her anger slid away, and in its place she felt tears begin to sting. "...I don't know," she said at last.

Kristoff approached again, and she sagged against him, now feeling only tired and raw. He was right; she knew now, but what good did that knowledge do her? She had learned no new places to search, and for all her ranting the guards had certainly had more than enough information to recognize Elsa if they had ever come across her. Her feelings of betrayal were giving way to sadness and an odd sense of shame. If her memories (incomplete though they apparently were) were all she had left of her family, what had she accomplished today except to tarnish them?

Kristoff had a hand at the back of her neck, lightly stroking the few loose wisps of ginger hair. She inhaled deeply, his scent pungent and familiar. "I don't want to keep looking if I'm not going to find anything," she said. "I can't do that anymore." Because what she had learned, what her parents surely knew, was that hope _hurt_. And just now, she didn't think she could take it.

"That's okay," he said gently. "It's okay, Anna. You've done as much as you could." And maybe she had. She had learned the truth, after all. If she could do nothing else for her sister, she could at least remember her properly now.

Like all things in her life, it just had to be enough.

—

Exhaustion tore at her, made her bleary and sick, but sleep wouldn't come that night. She knew that full well when she climbed into bed, and laid still for hours, willing her thoughts to either slow down or straighten themselves out. When she couldn't take the inactivity anymore she threw off the covers to pace in circles around the room.

In the corner there was a chest of personal effects, mostly blankets and linens that were only used for a portion of the year, but also old dresses and gowns of sentimental value. She dug through it now. Years ago the servants had come through to clean out her old clothings and knick-knacks to make way for the new. They had also taken any toys Anna was determined to have outgrown. She had hidden away two raggedy dolls, one a princess with white-blond hair and one the same with ginger locks. The dolls had seemed important to her then, but she had never since taken them out, so maybe it had been a meaningless gesture.

She took them out now. The red-headed princess sat in her lap, while she carefully traced the braided yarn and felt crown adorning the other.

Monarchs, she was quite sure, didn't lay on the ground in their nightgown in the middle of the night and play with children's toys. Instead they apparently spent their time making secret deals with trolls and lying to their heirs.

The bile rising in her throat was ugly and unfamiliar and, she knew, pointless. It _was_ better to know. She was able to recognize that, distantly. And her parents' omission was in the end only one part of everything they had been to her. But it was an ugly part, and one she feared would cast a pallor over all the others.

The poor dolls had been hidden away too long. She set them in a chair, side by side. A silly, simple thing, with no more meaning than anything else she was able to do at the moment. But it made her feel better all the same.

When she returned to bed, it was with her back to the large family portrait on the opposite wall.

—

When Hans saw the look on her face his greeting died on his lips. It had been weeks since her trip into the mountains, and she was far enough removed now to only be disappointed and resigned when she thought of everything that had happened. But apparently the feelings lingered in her expression, because he rushed down the gangplank, and caught her easily as she threw her arms around his neck.

"Are you alright?" he murmured into her hair. She shook her head and sighed before carefully withdrawing.

"I'm really not," she said. "I've been waiting; I wanted to talk to you." Hans always seemed to understand her perfectly. Maybe he could help her sort the mess in her head.

"What is it?" he asked, worry leaking into his voice. As she tried to marshal her thoughts, he said, "Is it the wedding?"

"What? No, no." She ran her hands down his arms in a soothing motion. "It's not—it's about Elsa."

"Your sister?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion, and she couldn't blame him.

"Yeah. It's...complicated. I just, I guess I need to talk about it still." She stepped back again and watched as his luggage was unloaded. "Once you're settled maybe we can—"

"We'll go now," he said, stepping forward to match her. He gave a few quick instructions to the porters, and led her to the castle.

—

"Wow," he said.

Anna picked at her skirt. "Yeah."

Hans was standing near the fireplace, and leaned against it now, staring into the distance. "So she was a sorceress?"

"I guess so," she said with a shrug.

"I almost can't believe it." He ran his hands over his mouth, then looked to her. "And I can't believe your parents did that to you."

A pain, sharp and bright, darted through Anna's heart. Although most of her initial anger had dissipated, that was the sticking point that she wasn't sure she'd ever be quite able to forgive. Not what had been done, exactly, because that was too far gone to change, but the years after when it should have been righted and wasn't.

"What's done is done," she said, trying very hard to believe it. "There's no point being angry at—at the dead." There was a lump in her throat, and she tried to swallow around it.

Hans was studying her carefully. It made her nervous, almost, because she didn't know what he saw. "Just to make sure," he asked, "you don't have any magic I don't know about, do you?"

She shook her head. "No." For good measure she stretched out her hands and wiggled her fingers at the fire to exactly no effect. "See?"

He strode slowly around the ottoman and took a seat next to her on the couch. "Because I, for one, have always found you bewitching," he said, his mouth restrained but his eyes smiling.

She snorted, a sound that surprised her more than it did him, and the laughter bubbling up did more to ease the weight on her shoulders than any amount of deliberation or justification could. She tipped her head against his shoulder and said, "That was terrible," even though it had actually been wonderful. "You always make me feel better, you know that?"

"I always will," he promised, and it strengthened her. She couldn't change what had happened, so there was no reason to dwell on it. The past was in the past. And Hans was here now.

She kissed him, chaste but warm, and leaned her head against his chest to listen to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.


	9. Chapter 9

Magic and trolls. Magic and trolls. These things rattled around Kristoff's mind. Magic and trolls and sorcery and ice and dreams and nightmares and memories. He couldn't shake the thoughts loose no matter how long he mulled over them.

He thought they buzzed so constantly because after he and Anna had returned from the mountains, after she had cried and calmed, their newly acquired knowledge was very nearly buried under the day-to-day necessities and trivialities of normal life. Princess Elsa may have been able to create ice with magic, but he still had to climb the mountains each day to find the frozen lakes and carry his own ice down. Anna's memories may have been scattered and incomplete, but she still had to manage the kingdom and everyone in it. It was extraordinary, certainly, to learn about real magic, but in the end there was nowhere for the knowledge to fit in the bustle of things that needed doing. So it sat uselessly in Kristoff's head, the heft of it feeling like it ought to knock _something_ in his routine out of place. But every day he got up, did his work like normal, ate like normal, ran errands like normal, bathed like normal, and went to bed like normal. Like the magic didn't matter at all.

Prince Hans' return had done more than the visit to the mountains did to disrupt his routine, since anytime Hans was in Arendelle his own room got a lot quieter and a lot lonelier while Anna was otherwise occupied. And now there was more than just Hans himself; there was the wedding, which as he understood was still proving difficult to plan. One of the only times he had been able to talk to Anna recently had been when he found her in the garden late at night, when most of the castle was asleep. She had appeared quiet and drawn, and plucked leaves from a nearby bush to tear into pieces as she thought.

Normally in such a mood she would have come to him already. But it was inappropriate to seek out another man while your fiancé was near, so it was only an accident that he had found her at all. Still, he wanted to help. "You know if you want to put off the wedding you can," he had told her. "Hans shouldn't be pushing you about it."

"He's not," she said. "It's the lawyers and the council. They don't even care about my wedding really, they're just worried about the coronation. And I want—I want the wedding, Kristoff." Shreds of green fell from her fingers.

"Then tell them to back off. You're sovereign, and you'll have your coronation when you want it."

"It's not that easy. A sovereign's no good on her own; I can't just push everyone away."

"Who's going to stop you?"

"I can't do that to Arendelle," she said. When she looked at him, his heart sunk at the familiar lost look in her eyes. "I just feel like I don't have time to breathe. Isn't that silly?" She dropped her eyes and let out a shaky laugh. "It's been months now. I just feel like there's...too much, and I can't process it all."

He understood. He felt it every day. Even the quiet moments were full of thought. And he didn't have a kingdom on his shoulders, his memories to wrest with, a betrayal dragging him down. And here was Anna, her toes bare and her fingers stained green, dealing with it all.

"I wish I could help," he said at last.

"You do," she said, although he knew he hadn't done anything at all. "And Hans is dealing with the lawyers. He's better at it than me sometimes."

"Well," he said, "good. That's he's helping." Because hearing about Hans somehow set his teeth on edge, even when it shouldn't.

In the end he hadn't been able to lighten Anna's expression at all, and when she got up, it wasn't to hug him or go to his room for talking or joking or anything at all. It was to return to the castle. To Hans, who could actually help her with this. Who could do the things Kristoff couldn't.

He wished he had a good reason to dislike Hans. Anything, anything at all, that wasn't stupid and selfish and petty. Anything that would give his feelings some justification and maybe banish the guilt he felt that by disapproving of Hans, he was disapproving of Anna's happiness. Because he wanted, more than anything, for her to be happy, and was ashamed at his own unconscious insistence on looking for ways to pick it apart.

But he couldn't help himself. He could (and did) nitpick when it came to the prince: Anna only seemed to occasionally remember she was a princess at all, but Hans gave the impression that he was always aware he was a royal among commoners. Which wasn't to say he wasn't nice; he was perfectly nice very nearly all the time. But it seemed a practiced kindness. Kristoff might not know princes, but he'd lived around horses long enough to learn them. When the horses performed, even if they executed their routine perfectly, there was an artifice in the motions. It was somewhat the same for Hans; there was (or at least appeared to Kristoff to be) a subtle tension in the way he carried himself. His acts of kindness seemed almost like he was still in etiquette lessons and hoped to impress the instructor.

Of course, this kind of practiced formality was common among the small sliver of royalty Kristoff had so far interacted with. But he himself had no practice with it, and being around Hans, when everything Hans did was very nearly perfect and he himself was anything but, put him just slightly on edge. The difference between himself and Prince Hans, of course, was that Hans was confident enough or charismatic enough or perhaps just politically trained enough to keep his manners about him in all circumstances, whereas Kristoff was rough and stiff and fell back on exaggerated formalities because he knew no other way to act towards a prince.

It annoyed Anna, he knew. She had always rolled her eyes too when he insisted on greeting her parents with a bow and using honorifics. As if it were foolish to pay respect to the King and Queen. As if he were at fault for treating a prince like a prince.

In the end it meant nothing at all. How foolish would it be to call Hans out for being on his best behavior for Anna? For being measured and even tempered at all times, even when Anna surely ground on his nerves, and for working to prove his worth to the people of Arendelle? If Kristoff wanted Hans to blunder, it was only so that he could justify his own feelings. Finding fault in formality was no reason to dislike Hans, and it wasn't the truth anyway. The honest, and worst, reason was:

Anna did not knock on his door in the middle of the night. She didn't throw her arms around him and muss his hair and wander around the courtyard arguing with Sven. She didn't come to Kristoff first with her news or her tears. Not while Hans was around. Not unless she needed Kristoff for something in particular, like his memories in the mountains.

Kristoff had been twelve when Kai had a serious talk with him about impropriety and why he and Anna were no longer allowed in each other's bedrooms. It had been humiliating; moreso when Anna merrily skipped into her room later that same day and he'd tried to fumblingly usher her out. Surely, even if no one had had the same talk with her, she must have eventually realized how her visits would look to an outsider. And she hadn't cared. She'd spared no thought to what anyone might think or say about their relationship, until Hans.

Now it was like a switch being flipped. When Hans was in Arendelle, Kristoff was an afterthought. He was sought out only when Hans wouldn't do for some reason. Then, when Hans' ship pulled away from the dock again, Anna would be back by his side like there had been no interruption at all. Probably because to her there hadn't. She hadn't been alone. Now she was engaged, and she'd never be alone again.

There were few enough things in life that Kristoff needed. He didn't need constant parties or a large group of friends. He didn't need fine wine or meats. He didn't need a pretty girl to smile at him, or a strapping lad to look his way. The things he needed were the things he had: regular food for him and Sven, and a roof over their heads when the weather was inclement. His work to give him purpose. Sven, to keep him company to help him on the way. And Anna, to talk with him and laugh with him and to prove him wrong when he thought he was better alone. If he could have all that, and only that, all his life, he would be perfectly fulfilled.

Anna needed more. She needed a lover to sweep her off her feet. She wanted a family, desperately, and he could never be that for her. She'd have a King instead, and after that...there would be no room for someone like Kristoff in the royal court. And the worst part was he already knew that it wouldn't be a quick and callous rejection. She probably wouldn't even notice it; she would just drift further and further away, becoming a Queen, a wife, eventually a mother, and leave Kristoff behind.

He wanted Anna to be happy. He just hadn't realized until Hans that he wasn't necessarily part of that happiness. And as childish and selfish as it was, that still stung.

Sven nudged his shoulder, making soft grunting and huffing sounds. Kristoff glanced at him, and sighed. "_Come on, cheer up buddy_!"

"I'm—I'm cheery. I'm fine."

"_Aw, you don't have to lie to me_."

"Look, I don't want to get into it. You miss Anna too, right?"

"_Of course I do! But she's happy now, isn't she_?"

"Yeah, sure, she's happy."

"_And that's what matters, right_?"

"Of course that's what matters! I know that! Would you just let me pout?"

"_But you look so sad when you pout. I don't want you to be sad_."

Kristoff sighed again and slung an arm across Sven's back. "Thanks, buddy, but I'll be fine." Sven grunted. "Honest. I've just gotta get over it."

Well. They were done with their work for the day, but there was no reason to go home. Anna would surely be spending the evening with Hans. Might as well see if he couldn't loosen up, maybe have a bit of fun before he turned in. So he slapped Sven on the back once more and headed towards the bar.

Summertime and the melting of previously frozen pathways had brought the usual seasonal wave of merchants to Arendelle. Trade in the capital city was always brisk, especially in the warmer weather, and as Kristoff approached the squat building that served as the local tavern he could already hear the swell of voices and see the assorted groups gathered outside to take in the weather with their beer. He left Sven with an admonishment not to wander off and squirmed through the crowd towards the door.

Inside there was slightly more breathing room, since most had settled on stools or around tables, leaving the pathways clear. The barmaid was gossiping with a group of women seated at the end of the bar, and it took several cries to get her attention. She pressed a mug carelessly into his hand, not seeming to notice or mind when she accidentally slipped beer all over his fingers. He scowled, but she had already returned to her conversation. Most women in the group Kristoff recognized from their storefronts or his business, but one or two were unknown to him. One in particular, almost certainly a merchant from her travelling clothes, had all the others enthralled with some kind of story. Good for them, then, but talk shouldn't get in the way of work. Kristoff grunted and went back to his beer.

"Well, but she isn't made out of snow, is she?" asked Ulla, the baker. "I've seen plenty of men made out of snow, but I've never fancied one."

The merchant woman, if that's in fact what she was, laughed raucously. Kristoff debated if he should move further down where the sound wouldn't grate on his ears quite so much. "Wouldn't that be a funny trick? No, they call her the Snow Queen because—"

Kristoff choked on his beer. The sound blocked out whatever the woman was saying, and he spun towards the women, eyes wide and face sopping. "Wait, sorry, what? Snow Queen?" They were watching him now, startled into silence, and he wiped his face and tried to gather his thoughts. "Sorry, I just, just overheard, and—Snow Queen? I mean, it sounds interesting, could you, uh, tell the story again?"

The women stared at him a moment more, then Ulla sputtered, and they were all suddenly laughing. He didn't know quite why, but it was loud and directed enough that he began to flush on instinct.

"Eh, that's what sets you going, Kristoff? A woman made all out of snow?" The fishwife rapped her friend on the arm, and they laughed anew.

His face was full scarlet now, but knowing why they were laughing at least gave him some ground to stand on. "_No_," he said emphatically. "I'm just curious."

"He does like his ice," Ulla said, as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"That's not—"

"It gets lonely up there in the mountain, it's not his fault."

"Hey!"

"And they say she's very beautiful," the merchant said, joining in the fun.

Kristoff leapt on her words. "They do? Okay, but who says that? Who are you talking about?"

"I've never seen you so interested in stories and rumor, Kristoff," the weaver said.

"Oh, but he's a man. Maybe he'll understand something we don't," said the herder.

"Sit down, son, you look like to explode," the merchant said easily, waving Kristoff into a stool. He took it begrudgingly, his annoyance keeping him perched on the edge of the seat. She chuckled and took a long draught of her beer while he tried not to fidget.

"I was only telling these here about a little village I trade with, up to the north," she said finally. "They do good leatherworks. There's mountains rung all around their valley, and I'm supposing the isolation finally got to some of the lads up there, since last time I passed through I kept hearing stories about a woman they call the Snow Queen."

She finished her drink and the maid swooped in to fill her another one without a beckon. "Now as far as I can tell she's a very pretty lady that lives in the mountains. Skin and hair white as snow, and very immodestly dressed, or so they claim." The women chuckled at that. The merchant smiled too, and stretched lazily. "'Course it sounds to me like frustrated boys who are tired of the women in their village, and make up a story just to give themselves something exciting to think about in their bunks at night."

Kristoff chewed his lip. His brief burst of excitement, of discovery, was dissipating, and he could feel the drag as his shoulders slumped and feet settled back firmly on the floor. "So it's just a bunch of men who said they saw a pretty lady? I don't see what's so funny about that."

"Ah, but you have to imagine what the men must be thinking, to have to make up something so silly as that," Ulla said, rapping him on the knee. "It's just a bit ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Maybe he hasn't got to imagine at all," said the fishwife. "He did jump from his chair at her name." Laughter pealed out again, and Kristoff gritted his teeth.

"Well it's a dumb name," he said, "if she only got it because her hair's white."

"Oh, there's more to it than that," said the merchant. "These stories take off, you know. They say that ice and cold don't bother her, which is how she can go around dressed so, and even that she's to blame for the blizzards in the mountains." Kristoff jolted in his seat. "If you offend her with your trespassing she'll summon a snowstorm or an avalanche to set on you; but, if you're lucky, and she likes the look of your face, she may even guide you down from the mountain back to safety."

"Let me guess: she liked the look of every man telling the story, hm?" said the herder.

"Suppose so, seein' as how they're all alive to tell the tale." The merchant laughed again, and it grated, but Kristoff's mind was rushing too quickly to dwell on it. A woman who could summon snow, a woman who didn't mind ice, with hair so light as to be white. It couldn't be, could it? After thirteen years it couldn't possibly be this simple.

_Don't be foolish,_ he told himself. _Don't get your hopes up; or worse, Anna's_. But the thought had ahold of him and wouldn't let go. He was thinking about magic and trolls, about sorcery and ice, about half-truths and lies and how the truth did seem to eke out, however unexpectedly.

Certainly Anna hadn't been looking for it, not anymore, not when so much time had passed. Thirteen years was too long for hoping, and far too long for the truth, but she'd found it anyway. It was simple luck, in the end, that Captain Halvard had been there in the forest, had fallen, had made it back to the palace without succumbing to his wounds; that Anna had been there to meet and help him, had heard in his delirium her first clue.

It was luck, ultimately, that their fumbling through the mountains had brought them to just the right place. Luck, maybe, that Anna in her frustration had kicked the stone; who's to say the trolls would have shown at all if not for that?

Luck, then, that Kristoff had chosen this night to go to the bar and sit so close to the boisterous women. Or maybe more than that; maybe a decade's worth of prayer had finally paid off, and it was a divine hand that had positioned them all so. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. Anna, without knowing, without intention, had been led to the truth about Elsa as a child. And now Kristoff, travelling only by his whims, had found what could be the first clue to Elsa as a grown woman.

"My papa used to call it 'bewitching beauty,'" the weaver, who was the youngest of the bunch, was saying with a longing sigh. "Women who could almost cast a spell on a man just by his looking at her."

"Maybe it was a spell that made her so," said the fishwife. "There's witches who would sell their soul for beauty, eh?"

"It'd be useful magic, wouldn't it?" asked Kristoff carefully. "I mean, not the, uh, beauty, but the ice thing?"

"You have been too long in the mountains," Ulla said.

"Magic's a funny way to justify a bunk fantasy," the merchant said with a smirk. "But supposin' that's what you're into…"

"_Yes_, okay, I get it," he snapped. "But just—just out of _curiosity_, where exactly did you hear these stories again?"

"It's called Jokikylä. I've an old map if you're deathly curious," the merchant said with a false casualness. "Got a better one last month, and I suppose you can have the old. If you absolutely _need_ it." She grinned with the teeth of a shark, and he almost had to admire her dedication to mocking him.

"Yes," he ground out, "I need it." The women, who had been waiting on tenterhooks, laughed again. The merchant took her dear time pulling out a worn map and passing it over. He snatched it from her hands as soon as it was within reach and began to stalk away. "You're all terrible," he called over his shoulder.

"Oy, Kristoff, are you comin' around Thursday?" Ulla called. "My ice box will need filling."

"Yes," he said at once. "How many blocks are you thinking?"

"Let's say five this time."

"Sounds great. See you Thursday." He waved to the women. "Hate you all!"

"Goodbye Kristoff!" they called. Their laughter followed him out the door, but he had no time for them now.

"Sven! Sven, come on, this is important," he called. Sven bleated and chased after him. Together they ran for the castle.

* * *

It was nice, Anna thought, to be able to relax for a bit. She'd spent most of the day...not fighting with the lawyers, exactly, but fussing at them. There was just so much to do, and she had been terribly distracted for a while now. She knew it was obvious to everyone, and she wished she could explain why, but what was she supposed to say?

_I found a bunch of trolls out in the woods and they told me my sister was magical and also that I don't really remember the things I think I remember_.

If Birgit thought her rule untrustworthy now, she'd have a conniption at that. Not even because it was completely unbelievable, but it was probably best for the stability of the kingdom that people didn't know their monarch's mind had been magically altered.

Ugh. She still didn't like thinking about it. At least Hans was there to divert some of the attention. He seemed to be taking an even keener interest in the running of Arendelle since his return (which made sense, since he'd be partially responsible for the kingdom soon). It was nice, except that it left Anna floundering a bit sometimes, when Hans went above and beyond and she suddenly found she had less to do than she thought.

It was thanks to his efficiency, in fact, that the details of the wedding ceremony were almost completely done. And at Birgit's insistence the coronation preparation was almost done as well. All that was left was to choose a date. It would take time yet, since there needed to be enough notice for the invitations to be received, schedules to clear, and guests to arrive. It wouldn't happen this week, or even this month, no matter what. Still, she hesitated, which annoyed nearly every advisor in her employ and, she knew, distressed Hans, though he stoically seemed concerned only for her.

She didn't know how to say that she needed a break. It wasn't even her coronation bothering her anymore, not really, but the realization that afterwards she would be Queen proper, and would never be able to surrender the weight of the crown again. There was already too much in her head; surely the crown in addition to all else would crush her.

Earlier in the evening Hans had finally guided her away after her discussions with the lawyers devolved into petty snapping, and though he busied himself asking if she was alright and what he could do, she had seen the hurt he couldn't quite hide. It wasn't fair to burden him with her indecision. He knew more of the situation than almost anyone, of course, but Elsa wasn't his sister, and maybe he'd never understand completely. No one could.

She had tried to be especially kind to him afterwards. His favorite activities, fencing and falconry and hunting, weren't the kind of thing that she could arrange on a whim so late in the day, and she was too poor an opponent at chess to occupy him that way. Instead she had let him lead them to a study, and obligingly took up a book with him. They curled together on the couch, and though the quiet certainly wasn't entertaining to her, she could admit that it was nice just to lie together in a silence that was much more comfortable than many of theirs had been recently. Perhaps more quiet moments were what she needed after all.

Mostly quiet. There was the occasional footfall as a servant passed by the door, and whoever was approaching now was doing so at a run and with all the grace of a drunkard on an ice patch. Honestly, it sounded like Sven was racing through the halls, and she had half a mind to scold whoever it was, if only she wasn't too comfortable to move.

Then Kristoff burst through the door, and that was somehow even more surprising. She and Hans both started.

"Anna!" Kristoff cried. Then he saw Hans and abruptly straightened. "Prince Hans."

"Kristoff!" Anna pressed a hand to her chest and willed her racing heart to slow. "What is it? You scared us!"

"It's, uh, just that…" His eyes, she could see, were moving between her and Hans. She had no idea what he was looking for. They were cuddling, sure, but it was hardly improper. To drive the point home she frowned and leaned back more firmly against Hans.

"Is everything alright?" Hans asked, and that seemed to shut Kristoff up completely. Typical.

"What is it?" she asked again. Then she saw the tension in his fists, how his chest heaved with exertion, and sat up in fear. "Is something wrong? Is Sven hurt?"

"What? I mean no, no, everything's fine." He looked agitated still, but didn't seem likely to make his case anytime soon. "I just...I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "Sure." She settled back against Hans and waited.

Kristoff flexed his fists. If he had his hat, she knew he'd be worrying it. "I thought, um…" He jerked his head down the hall. Anna just stared at him. What was he getting at? Finally he sighed and said, "I wanted to tell you this story I heard at the bar tonight."

She blinked again. "Okay…" she said after a pause.

"If you're worried about me, I can promise I've heard worse from my brothers," Hans joked cheerfully.

Anna giggled. "That's true." Then she looked to Kristoff with a half-concerned smile. "Wait, do I want to hear this story? Should I leave you boys to it?"

"NO—no no," Kristoff said immediately. His body suddenly went slack, in relief or exasperation she couldn't tell, and he said, "There was a merchant telling a story about someone called the Snow Queen who can make blizzards and—"

"What?!" She found herself darting forward again, and this times Hans followed her.

"Your sister?" he asked, and she saw confusion and then relief flicker on Kristoff's face. As if she wouldn't have told Hans her most important news.

The tension was broken at least, and Kristoff closed the door behind him before hurrying in and sitting in the chair near them. "Tell me everything," Anna said even as he opened his mouth.

He paused for just an instant and said, "There was a merchant woman at the bar. She was telling everyone about this rumor they have up in a town she trades with, of a woman who lives in the mountains and can create snowstorms and isn't hurt by the cold, apparently? And—and I think it must be a new story, because she says she trades with them regularly but it sounded like she hadn't heard this before."

"Where?" Anna demanded. He pulled out a worn map and spread it on the low table in front of them.

"Here," he said, tapping a small X. "Jokikylä. Leatherworks." The maps was crowded with drawn paths and scribbled notes, and she tracked them all closely.

"What else did she say? What does she look like? What else can she do?"

"All she said was that the Snow Queen had really pale skin and, um, white hair, but I mean, based on the pictures of Elsa—"

"Her hair was almost white," Anna blurted. "In certain light—"

"Right, that's what I was thinking!"

Hans, who had so far been quiet, leaned forward and traced a path along the coast of the map, hovering his finger just over it so as to not smudge his white gloves with graphite. "This is a fair way north," he murmured. "There's Lomsdal and Børgefjell."

"Arendelle must be below," Anna said, tapping the table to the south of the map.

"Yes, but there's Trondheim. I've been hunting there with an uncle. I know how far it is." He leaned back and stroked his chin. "You said it was a new story?" he asked Kristoff.

"Yes."

"Is that important?" Anna asked him, but Kristoff answered.

"Well Elsa's young, right? There's lots of stories of sorceresses and even magic women of winter, and people tell them all the time, but if this was an old rumor that's been going on for generations then it couldn't be a girl who's only now twenty, right?"

"Exactly," Hans said.

"Twenty-one," Anna corrected automatically. "It's August now, so she would have had a birthday already." At twenty-one Elsa would have been coronated, she realized suddenly. Even if she had never met Hans or anyone else, Arendelle would have had a queen.

It was a strange thing to think about, but she seized it, because a thick fog that may have been hope or may have been confusion had descended and was obscuring most of her thoughts. Her heart was racing again, she knew that. What had she been thinking about before? Her wedding? Her coronation? How could any of that matter? She might have a _sister_, if only she could reach her. How could anything else matter at all?

"So…" She trailed off. Both men were looking at her strangely, and she could only imagine what was on her face right now. "So...now we go find her, right?"

Hans opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned into the distance. Kristoff just looked thoughtful. She looked between them and said, "What?"

"Maybe…" Hans said, "...we go look, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "I don't want to see you upset if—if it's just a rumor."

"Rumors start somewhere," she said, "and I can't take the chance of missing her. _Please_." She took his hand. "You understand, don't you?"

"Of course," he said immediately. "Anna, I'll do whatever you need me to do. But I worry." He ran a hand down her braid, settled it on the back of her neck. "I can't keep from worrying."

Normally Kristoff would almost certainly have blushed or gagged or left the room by now, but he was still studying the map intensely.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"What do I think?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I think Hans is right," he said as though it hurt him, "and I don't want to see you upset again. It _is_ just a rumor. But," he said when she started to protest, "I knew you'd want to know either way."

"I do," she said. "I do. And I have to know what's here." She jabbed at the X on the map. "Either way, like you said." There was nothing there, she knew, that could hurt worse than losing her family already had. Nothing that could bring her lower. She was ready now to spring back.

Hans had leaned back and tapped his fingers thoughtfully. "Does anyone else know about Elsa's powers?" he asked. "Outside of this room?"

Anna glanced to Kristoff, who shrugged and shook his head. "The trolls, but I don't think they're exactly blabbing about it. Why?"

"The timing," he said, already with the beginnings of an apologetic grimace. "Just a month or two ago you learned about Elsa's magic for the first time since you were young, and now Kristoff happens to hear something like this in a bar? Just randomly?" Anna felt a flush of anger, which was altogether strange, and he hastened to say, "I'm not doubting his account. I just think we need to think everything over."

"I agree, it's strange," Kristoff said, and Anna whirled towards him with a gasp. "Well it is, come on. But it was strange finding the trolls, right? And that Halvard got hurt just in that place?" He cleared his throat. "And I mean, honestly, people are telling those kinds of stories all the time, and I just don't pay attention. The only reason I noticed tonight was because of Elsa. If I hadn't known about her, I could have heard the exact same story and would have forgotten by the time I got home."

"So you could have, theoretically, heard something like this before," she said, "but it didn't mean anything until now."

"Right," he agreed.

They both looked to Hans, who was staring into the distance. He seemed to reach a conclusion and leaned forward again. "Then what do we do?" he asked.

"Well, I need to get to Jokikylä," Anna said, studying the map. There was instant silence, and when she looked up both men were staring at her. She sighed in exasperation. "What?"

"That's, uh, not exactly where I thought this was going," Kristoff said.

"What else would we do?" she asked. "Elsa's my sister, and if she's up there I have to go get her."

"You have to run the kingdom, don't you?"

"We've taken vacations before," she said. "Honestly. It's not going to fall apart in a few weeks."

"Yeah, but…"

Kristoff trailed off, but Hans stepped in. "What if it's dangerous? This is outside of Arendelle's borders, and you don't know what the area's like. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you, and the kingdom would be lost as well."

"Nothing will happen," she assured him. "It's not like I'm going to war or anything. I'm just going to talk to some people, really. Try to find out what's going on."

"Can't a scout do the same?" he asked. "At least to check things out before you go."

She rolled her eyes. "If a scout finds her then there's no reason to go at all."

"Yes, that...that may have been my point." At her look he winced and shrugged.

"I'll go," Kristoff said quietly. "I think I might know better than a scout what to look for, and I can put my business on hold for a while."

"Yes, you're going," Anna said, and they both glanced at her. "_With_ me. I'll need someone who knows the forest and mountains."

"Then I'm going as well," Hans said at once. "And we'll need a guard—"

"No, no guard," Anna said. "She's a princess, not a criminal. I don't want to scare her."

Hans winced again. "Anna, please, I don't...I don't want to be cruel," he said, as if he ever was, "but I don't think we can assume that we'll find her. At least so easily. You might need someone to take care of you."

"I'll have Kristoff," she said, and thought she heard the man in question mutter. "He's burly, it'll be fine."

"You keep volunteering me to protect you, you're going to have to get me a pistol or something."

"Shush."

Hans tapped his lips. "So the three of us—"

"No," she said again, more gently this time. "I need you here."

"What?!" he and Kristoff both said. Kristoff shut up at once, but Hans turned more fully to Anna, an argument gathering in his eyes. "You _cannot_ go out into the wilderness, to a village you don't know, with only an ice harvester—no offense—"

"I'm actually with you," Kristoff said, "although there will also be a reindeer. Just want to mention."

Hans ignored him completely. "I'm not letting you go out there alone. You need protection; you need my sword."

She pressed a hand to his cheek. "Arendelle needs you. I know the kingdom will be safe if it's with you."

He cut his eyes away and chewed on the inside of his cheek. After a tense moment, he nodded. "On my honor."

"Thank you," she said, and kissed him.

"Wait, so...wait." Kristoff furrowed his brow. "How did Anna win this argument? You were outnumbered."

"Skill," she said lightly. She stroked Hans' cheek once more, and looked back at the map. "So, how exactly do we get there?"

Hans refocused as well. He set his finger on some random point below the map, and traced upwards, following the trade routes through the mountains, and then going back down and tracking along the coast. "This is a long route. By carriage it could take better than two months."

She and Kristoff both cringed, and she actually gasped a little. There was no way she could be gone that long.

"But," Hans said reluctantly, "It's not very far from a port city. If you could take a ship, the sailing might only take a week, and then another day or two to the village."

A ship, out on the open ocean, where there were waves and storms and no one to help them. The thought made her instantly sick and dizzy, but it didn't still her tongue. "Then we're taking a ship," she heard herself say distantly.

"Anna?" Kristoff asked, sounding concerned. Hans' hand took hers, and it grounded her.

"Take the _Colichemarde_," Hans said at once. "It's built for speed, and I would feel better knowing my men are looking after you."

The _Colichemarde_. It had traveled between Arendelle and the Southern Isles multiple times, and many other places besides. She would be safe on the _Colichemarde_. "Yes," she said, and then, "Thank you."

For a moment the three of them were perfectly still, absorbing their plan. Then Kristoff leaned back, sighed, and said, "What are you going to tell everyone?"

—

In the end she could think of nothing better to say than the truth: She'd heard news from a traveling merchant of a woman who might be the lost princess, and wanted to investigate it. If she thought Kristoff and Hans had pitched a fit at her idea, it was nothing compared to the uproar from the council and the guard. She fielded questions for days. ("I don't know if the information is reliable. That's why I'm going to check. I don't want to send anyone else; no one will know my sister better than me. The woman looks like Elsa, and acts like Elsa, and it's all I have so it's enough.")

"Your Majesty," said Birgit, "the timing is suspect. You must attend to your duties."

She was stung by the implicit accusation, but knew it was her own fault. How silly worrying about the date of her wedding seemed now. "I will," she said in the end, "once I return."

Captain Halvard took it the hardest. She made sure it was well known that she didn't expect or want a guard, and for the first two days of preparation he said nothing at all. On the third she was walking down an empty hall, and suddenly found herself being dragged into a side room by a firm grip.

Halvard released her as soon as they were clear of the hallway. It had likely taken all of his willpower to overcome his training and lay a hand on the princess. "Your Majesty—" he said, voice stern, but cut off abruptly when Anna threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank you," she said quietly as he stood at rigid attention and made very, very sure not to move his hands.

"For, Your Majesty?" His voice was rough with nerves, and it brought a smile to her face.

She pulled away. "For not giving up."

His throat bobbed, and for a moment he couldn't seem to collect himself enough to speak. "Tell me, please," he said at last, voice soft now, "how you learned."

There was no getting around it. Surely if there had been a human source of information he would have found and interrogated them by now. And she thought, for some reason, that he would understand. "The trolls told me," she said, which was a simple enough version.

Halvard stared at her, motionless as a statue. For a moment she thought he would declare her mad or deluded. Then his posture, still at attention, changed just subtly, and he said, "Very good, ma'am. Take care on your journey, and safe travels."

"Thank you, Captain," she said. She wondered briefly what kinds of things he had seen in all his years of protecting the kingdom. If there were things he knew but couldn't explain. She was glad all over again for his service.

If Hans had been hesitant that night in the study, he was her biggest supporter now. He was always just where she needed him. For three days he helped lay everyone's questions to rest, and on the third stood with her on the harbor as his men loaded the ship.

She could barely stand to look at it. She'd be on the ship for a week, maybe more. Hans kept her focus on him.

"Coming through," Kristoff called, and Sven bleated as he was led up the gangplank.

"I can't quite believe you're bringing the reindeer," Hans muttered. Anna envisioned the mess he would make of the hold, and winced sympathetically.

"Sven's kind of non negotiable. Hey." He looked back at her, and she pressed one more kiss to his lips. "Good luck with everything."

"You can have all my luck." He pressed their foreheads together. "Hurry back, okay?"

"I will." The ship captain was calling for her. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

At the edge of the gangplank her legs almost buckled. Then they steadied, and it was simplicity itself to climb into the waiting ship.

Kristoff was on deck, leaning with both hands against the railing. It was a slightly different view from the deck of a ship. One she hadn't seen in a long time. She took it in, focusing on the gathered crowd, on the bright colors of the market, on Hans. This wasn't so bad.

Then the gangplank was raised, and there was a lurch as the ship set sail. She staggered, clutched at Kristoff, and then headed for the mast, which was far away from the water and therefore clearly the best place on the ship.

"Your rooms are downstairs, milady," a mate said. "You're staying in the royal suite."

"Am I?" she asked distantly. "Oh, oh good. Could you show me the way?"

"Yes, of course." He bowed and led her off. Kristoff was watching the pier pull away, and she left him to it.

"Not to worry, milady," the mate chirped as they headed into the darkness of the lower decks. He rapped on a wall. "She's one of the finest ships I've sailed, and Prince Hans has given very strict instructions that your safety is paramount. He'll have all our heads if anything happens to you."

The sea would have them all if it had half a chance. But it didn't matter. Not her fear, or the waves rolling beneath them, or the skeptical looks of the people in the court. None of it.

She was going to find Elsa.


	10. Chapter 10

Her rooms below deck were well appointed, of course. While they may have been officially referred to as the royal suite, it was immediately obvious that the rooms were too particular, too personally decorated, to have regularly housed anyone but Hans. The wood of the ship was a deep mahogany, and the furniture and decorations on the walls tended towards dark reds and blues, with brass accents and the occasional splash of silver. There were windows, shut tight against the ocean spray, but not too many at this level. It was a stark contrast to the pale stone and lighter wood of the castle, with its abundance of wide windows and bright painted walls.

It was very...masculine, she decided. And just a little surprising. A room on a ship wasn't the same as a bedroom in a castle, of course, but these were the only chambers of Hans' she'd ever seen. Arendelle might not have been his kingdom, but he seemed utterly comfortable in it. So much so that she realized she'd had an unspoken assumption that the spaces he occupied outside of Arendelle must be very similar to the ones she knew, or else how could he be so at home?

Maybe he was just very adaptable, or maybe he just didn't really care what his bedroom looked like. Anna's had always been done up in pinks and yellows and pale greens, with huge windows letting in the sunlight. She loved the brightness and sense of space. How might Hans want the royal chambers appointed when they were to finally share them? Maybe she should start thinking about this.

Still, here on the ship the deep, rich colors were rather comforting. In a way she felt she was in a cavern, which was wonderful because caverns were on land. She could almost pretend if it weren't for the subtle shifting of the floor beneath her. And though she hadn't been on a boat in years she was already adjusting to the gentle undulations of the vessel.

Once she had sailed fairly often. Arendelle was a port city, after all, and she and her parents traveled regularly for vacations and diplomatic trips. In fact, her father had been teaching her how to man a small yacht before his death. Even if they had died by an accident on land rather than at sea, she wouldn't have had the strength to continue without him. But even after so long it was clear something had taken, and she walked across the room on steady legs.

The roiling waves outside her window, however small, caused a heaviness in the pit of her stomach, and she drew all the curtains and lit a lantern for light instead. Thoughts of her father couldn't help but leave a bitter lump in her throat these days, so to distract herself she began exploring the room.

Everything was secured for the voyage. There were many books, more than she thought she could read in years, and she recognized very few of them. From the look of them all had been read at least once, and many were well worn, though not as badly as her favorite childhood storybooks from the castle library. Some were textbooks on political theory, history, economics, diplomacy, and war exercises. Even as the thirteenth son Hans was well versed in every aspect of politics, and she was suddenly embarrassed by how often she had complained about her own studies.

There were also what appeared to be epic adventures books, again not at all like the fairy tales Anna was used to. Many seemed to stretch across multiple volumes. Even in the depths of her own boredom on extended journeys she couldn't imagine having the patience for such long stories, but then Hans was very clever and well read, and it's not like there were too many other distractions on a ship.

There was a globe securely fastened to the desk, and a number of maps laid next to it, their corners tucked under leather straps so they wouldn't slide with the motion of the ship. The maps were well marked with many neat, color coded annotations that meant nothing to Anna but had clearly taken Hans a lot of time. She admired the care in his cramped handwriting, and imagined him hunched over the desk in the middle of a voyage, working intently. Maybe with the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth, which it did sometimes when he concentrated. She giggled.

In the corner was a shield, clearly meant to be decorative, and a number of swords, which were not. There was a simple foil, which looked to have seen its share of fencing matches. A colichemarde was next to it; even without pulling it from its sheath she recognized it from the drastic thinning of the blade after the fullers. And last of all was a rapier. He kept one with him at all times, just in case he ever needed to add it to his costume for some official duty, so this must be a spare. She pulled it carefully from its sheath and held it out. Her pose was a fencing pose, better suited to the foil, but it let her feel the weight of the blade. She thought of the skill Hans surely used in wielding it, and of the strength in his arms, and blushed.

There was a rough knock on the door. "Come in," she called, lowered the sword. Kristoff entered, blinked at the weapon in her hand, and dropped himself into a chair.

"Got Sven settled," he said, voice strained. "I think I'm already getting sick."

"Aw." She sheathed the sword. "It's worse below deck though. Maybe you should go get some sun."

"Are you coming out?"

"No," she said. She meant to add _Not now_, but it died on her tongue because of the implicit lie. She was alright here, where she couldn't see the ocean. She'd be just fine.

Kristoff nodded roughly and hunkered down in the chair like he expected someone to rip him out of it. His lips were locked so tightly they were white. It was everything she could do not to laugh.

"Kristoff. Seriously. If all you're going to do is sit here and get sick, go above deck. Then you can at least throw up over the railing of something."

He sat there a good ten seconds more out of sheer stubbornness. Then he gasped, "I'llbebackgottago," in one long breath and disappeared.

Then there was nothing to do but settle into the tedium of travel.

She hadn't thought to bring books of her own, so she passed the time browsing Hans'. The adventures were too involved and drawn out to hold her interest, and she was bored almost immediately with the textbooks. Then she noticed that Hans made notes in the margins of the pages, like with his maps, and entertained herself with flipping through just the find the annotations. Sometimes they led her to other books, like "Tzu p. 149" or "Prince p. 28," and some were just short phrases like "silk?" or "cannons, gunpowder." None of it made any sense to her, of course, but she felt like she was sharing something with Hans all the same.

When she wasn't reading she thought. This was dangerous. Sometimes she thought of her parents, trying to divine any clue of what they had been hiding from their behavior. She found in her memories a discomforting amount of avoidance and deflection, but it was hard to say which were honest memories and which were discolored by her present sense of betrayal.

Mostly though she thought of Elsa. She tried very hard to remember everything of their childhood she could, to the point where she was sure her mind was making up stories just to give her something more to dwell on. She turned then to what they might find in the little village, on the mountain where the Snow Queen was said to dwell. If they found anything at all.

She imagined Elsa, tall and fair. In her best thoughts Elsa recognized her at once, and ran to her. She had wanted to come home the whole time, but couldn't, maybe because she was scared, or maybe because she'd hit her head as a child and couldn't read maps anymore, Anna didn't know. Maybe she had hit her head and lost her memories, and even if Anna knew her she'd know nothing of Arendelle or her sister, and Anna would have to explain everything. Sometimes in this scenario Elsa not only didn't remember anything, but also looked completely different from the woman in Anna's imagination, and they passed each other on the road and never knew.

Sometimes, after she had abandoned the adventure books yet again but still had a head full of otherworldly warriors and fantastic creatures, she'd think instead of the Snow Queen. A powerful sorceress, her hair full white instead of pale blond. Maybe her skin had turned blue as deep ice, and she had an army of snowmen at her beck and call. Was that who Elsa had become?

She thought also of arriving and finding out it was only stories after all, that there was no Snow Queen and there was no Elsa. These thoughts made tears prick at her eyes that never quite gathered the weight to fall, but she forced herself to dwell on them. She wanted to be ready when...if it happened.

Then she thought of finding Elsa after all, but learning she had abandoned Arendelle willingly, and didn't care about her kingdom or her crown or her sister. In her thoughts Elsa was cold, sneering, disgusted by her pleas, and turned away. Anna was suddenly overtaken by choking sobs at the idea, and spent too long thinking of anything else under the sun to try and bury the thought before finally giving up and resolving to think of nothing at all for a while.

Kristoff came by when he could, but it wasn't often. He was desperately prone to seasickness, which they really should have figured out before setting out on the voyage, and could only spend a short time below deck before he was overcome. Anna supposed she should have gone above with him at least a little, but it was safe and comforting in her rooms, so Kristoff had to come to her instead.

At the end of the first day he staggered in and said, "I think I hate boats."

On the second he said, "Next time I get up a mountain I'm never coming down again."

On the third he said, "Sven threw up all over the hold. They made me clean it."

On the fourth he said, "I threw up on the deck. I hate boats. I can't believe you brought us out here."

On the fifth he said, "I hate you." She knew he didn't mean it when he said, "No, really, I mean it," and slammed the door behind him.

On the sixth day they docked, ahead of schedule. The _Colichemarde's_ speed had delivered. Anna kept her eyes very firmly on the pier as she went down the gangplank, and sighed at the touch of her boots on solid land.

"That wasn't so bad," she said to a staggering Kristoff and an equally wobbly Sven. They shot her twin dirty looks.

"Your Highness," the captain, a stumpy man named Hagen, called. For just a moment she was nonplussed at her old honorific. But of course, "Your Majesty," was typically reserved for monarchs, and the captain was surely more used to addressing Hans. "I understand we're to wait for you here."

"Yes," she said. "Stay here in town; open any purchases you need under the seal of Arendelle, and I'll settle once I get back."

"Very good," he said gruffly. His face was well weathered by the years at sea, and it always looked just slightly incongruous for formalities to come out of his chapped and twisted mouth. She suspected that he was a much rougher man than she had so far seen, and that Hans had instructed him to put on his best behavior.

"Well," she said, turning to Kristoff and Sven. "What now?"

Kristoff ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Sled. For Sven." He glanced around. "If we can find one to rent, then Sven can take us the rest of the way."

"What about on the way back? If we have an extra passenger?"

Something very much like doubt flickered across his face, and she was glad when he held his tongue. "Won't be a problem. He's used to hauling ice, and all we'll have for supplies are some food and clothes."

"Then let's find a sled."

It was more difficult than she'd thought, but eventually she flashed enough gold to procure a smallish sled from a ratty looking merchant who had almost certainly bilked them badly. Kristoff watched the merchant hurry away with narrowed eyes, then unwound a leather tie from his bag and held it out to her. "Here."

"What?"

"Put your ring on it. Hide it in your dress or something. Just in case."

"Oh." Yes, that was for the best. She slid her engagement ring on the leather band and tied it around her neck, tucking it underneath her dress when she was done.

"Your clothes are nice," Kristoff said, looking concerned.

"They're perfectly normal."

"For a palace."

"Would you feel better if I ran through some brambles and fell into the mud?"

"Maybe." Then he rolled his eyes at himself and said, "Then again, you're probably going to do that anyway." She jabbed him, and he chuckled.

"How long do you think it'll take?" she asked. He pulled out the worn map and studied it.

"She's got a good route marked. Say a day and a half of travelling, just in case. It's mid afternoon; if we stay here at an inn tonight, we should get there late morning in two days, and have plenty of time to look around."

"We leave now," she said, and he rolled his eyes but didn't argue.

—

She'd considered herself well traveled, but it quickly became apparent that visiting palaces and châteaux in various kingdoms didn't really count as seeing the world. The bare paths and tiny villages along the route were completely new to her, and for the first time she felt woefully underprepared. They had been lucky to find a town large enough for an inn at the end of the first day, and she shared a room with several strange women while Kristoff did the same with some men.

The next day Kristoff said that they should reach Jokikylä shortly before nightfall. The morning ride was silent, until Anna said, "You don't think we'll find her, do you?"

Kristoff let out a careful breath. "No," he said simply.

"But you did. Otherwise you wouldn't have said anything."

"I did. For a moment." He ran his tongue across the insides of his cheeks.

"But…?"

"You started to believe it. And I thought…" He rolled a shoulder in a half shrug. "I thought I shouldn't, just in case."

"That's…" She turned her eyes skyward, thought hard for a long moment, and finished, "..._so_ dumb."

"Hey!" he cried. "I'm trying to help you."

"You are helping me! But did you seriously change your mind just because of what I think?"

"Uh…"

"Don't you trust my judgement?"

"Yyyyyyyy...es?"

"You hesitated!" She shoved him, and he squawked and batted at her.

"Driving here! And I was just thinking about whether or not you've ever shown bad judgement around me, okay?"

She blinked. "Well. Have I?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "More times than I can count."

"Wh—"

"There was the time with the cake," he said. "_Thank you_, by the way, for forcing me to wash vomit out of my hair. And that one time you wanted to make stilts, and the bicycle race, and the broccoli experiment!"

"Oh yeah? Well what about the time you tried to teach me to ice skate? That wasn't my idea!"

"That would have gone great if you weren't terrible at skating!"

"The ice was too thin, Mr. Ice Master!"

"You went the wrong way!"

Anna threw herself back in her seat and crossed her arms. "You deserved vomit in your hair."

The look Kristoff sent her was so utterly horrified that her lips instinctively twitched. She trembled and tried to hold in the giggles, until he said, "And you deserved the ruined dress."

She couldn't help it. She was laughing, deep, gasping, body shaking laughter that almost hurt. Kristoff was laughing too, and Sven was so excited at the noise that he kept trying to look back and steering them off the road. Kristoff snapped the reins to guide him back into place, and they eventually quieted down.

She felt light now. Her thoughts had been too heavy on the ship, too heavy for a long time now. She tipped her head against his shoulder and said, "Thank you."

"What?" He shook his head. "I didn't do anything." She sighed and didn't bother to correct him. He always said that, but as long as he was there, it was enough.

—

"The Snow Queen?" the man asked. Jokikylä, as it turned out, was too small for an inn. Kristoff thought they might find information about accommodations at the tavern. Anna just wanted information, but was beginning to despair of finding anything useful.

There was one solid bit of information that everyone seemed to agree on: the Snow Queen lived somewhere in the peaks of the northmost mountain surrounding the village. They'd also learned that the mountains was extremely deadly, with terrible storms that could spill into the village, regular avalanches, and more souls lost than could be counted. Half the people they talked to blamed the Snow Queen. The other half didn't seem to care about the dangers at all, and instead talked about her beauty or her magic or how they had absolutely met her once, out in the snow. It was immediately obvious almost every one of them was lying, and even the ones who may have begun with a grain of the truth quickly buried it under outlandish exaggerations.

This man was one of the latter. After several minutes of very blatant and poorly worded innuendos he seemed to expect to go over Anna's head, Kristoff cut him off with a sharp, "Okay, thank you," and headed to the bar.

"Well," he said as they settled into stools, "she's either the loosest woman on the continent or some kind of horrible ice witch. So that's fun."

"She's neither," Anna said immediately. But she thought of some of her own more fantastic visions of the woman they called the Snow Queen, and got just a little nervous.

"Is that really why you came?" someone asked. They turned to see a young woman, tearing off bits of bread and feeding them to a small boy seated next to her. "For those stories?"

"Not if they're only stories," Anna said miserably.

The woman studied her clothes, and Anna wondered if they were too fine after all. Then she shifted her focus to the bread for a moment, and said, "They're not. But I also think they're not what you're expecting."

Anna gasped, and Kristoff said, "Can you tell us more?"

"Who you want to talk to is Mirjami. She's the healer, and treats those that come down from the mountain. She's in the furthest hut to the north."

"Thank you," Anna said, stumbling over the words in her excitement. "Thank you so much." There was a small orange in her bag, and she pressed it into the hands of the boy, who grinned in delight. After fumbling a moment more she came up with a few gold coins, and passed these as surreptitiously as possible to the woman. Kristoff nodded to them both and chased after Anna as she fled to the door.

"North!" she exclaimed as she burst outside. "Okay so that's—"

"Anna!" Kristoff took her arm and sighed. "It's full dark now, and we don't have anywhere to stay. She'll be there in the morning."

"Or maybe if we go tonight, Mirjami will tell us where we can stay."

He studied her. "You're going with or without me, huh?"

"Yep."

He huffed. "Fine, fine. Sven!"

—

It took two passes to find the healer's hut, which was tucked well away from the rest of the village in a forested area. Anna wondered at the usefulness of a healer who was so far removed from her patients, but if the mountain was as dangerous as everyone said maybe she wanted to be closest to its victims.

The woman who opened the door had a calm but no-nonsense demeanor. She didn't pause before waving Anna and Kristoff inside, but seemed to be withholding judgement until they spoke.

Though Kristoff had been fairly engaged earlier in the evening, he fell silent here, so Anna took a deep breath and said, "We've come a very long way looking for information about the Snow Queen." There. She hadn't said she was a princess, or what kingdom she was from. Kristoff said that was for the best.

"Now, what could a grown woman like yourself want with that silly story?" Mirjami asked, wandering around the small room to gather supplies for tea.

What indeed? Would the truth do here, or was it too dangerous? Kristoff wasn't giving an indication either way. "I lost someone I cared about a very long time ago," Anna said slowly, carefully, "and when I heard these stories I thought I might have a chance to find them again. But if I don't...I just wanted to know for sure, so maybe I can finally stop looking." Kristoff was staring at her, and she pointedly refused to meet his gaze.

Mirjami set the kettle to boil and gathered some tea leaves. "Used to be around here when someone got lost in the mountains, we knew they were gone for good. I don't think people quite know what to think now that they're coming back down, somehow. It ought to be a blessing, but it's just shameful the stories they end up telling."

"We heard some of those stories," Kristoff grumbled.

"But there has to be something behind it, doesn't there?" Anna persisted. "I mean there's so many people talking about this Snow Queen, she must be…"

Mirjami made a disgusted face. "Shameful," she said again, "that they spread such rot. There's no such thing as the Snow Queen."

"What?" There was such a ringing in Anna's ears that she didn't know if she or Kristoff had asked the question. The girl at the tavern had said it was more than stories, hadn't she? There must be _something_. There had to be. They'd come so far, after so long; she didn't have anything but this.

"Lots of people in the village say she exists," Kristoff said quickly. "Why would they all be telling the same story if there wasn't really anyone up there?"

"There is a woman in the mountains," Mirjami said, "or a person, at least. Maybe someone who has seen her closer knows its a woman, but I only have my own eyes, and they've never gotten a good enough look."

"Then what have you seen?" Anna asked, aware of the broken note in her voice and not able to do a thing about it.

Mirjami thought for a long moment while she set the tea to soak. "There's someone in the mountains, but she's a robber, not a witch. She's not alone up there, I don't think, but I don't know who might be with her. All I know is this: Three years ago people started being brought down from the mountains. They often end up at my door, since I'm as close as I am. They're always near death. Some of them don't make it, and some of them look to have been wounded and beaten around the head. But almost all of them have been robbed." She leaned back in her chair and studied Anna and Kristoff closely.

"You said you've seen someone though?" Kristoff asked.

She nodded. "Through my window sometimes, dropping the next one off. She doesn't bother me, and I don't bother her. I let her get on her way, and then help them best I can."

"But she's a thief." Kristoff rubbed his hand through his hair, his face screwed up in confusion. "If you've seen her, shouldn't you call a constable or something?"

"I'm a healer," Mirjami said. "I don't care if they lose their wallet, so long as they keep their life. I'll tell you what I see: people brought down from the mountain, frostbitten and frozen, who would have died if they'd been up there an hour more. Whoever this person is, she's a vulture. She preys on those who have already fallen victim to the mountain, but for their money she'll save their life. That seems a good trade to me."

"What does she look like?" Anna asked. "When you…"

"I can't tell much. She's bundled up against the cold, and it hides most things." So that was one strike against the idea of the Snow Queen. "Her hair is dark, where I've seen it." And that was a second.

"What about the blizzards?" Kristoff asked. "People talked a lot about that."

"People are fools," Mirjami said bluntly. "That mountain's no colder than it's been my whole life, and my mother's and grandmother's. It's less deadly now, not more, and that's because of the robber woman, not some ice witch."

A third strike. There was nothing here after all.

No. _No_. She had thought there was nothing to be found in the mountains of Arendelle, and there had been. Now there was a woman in these mountains, the mountains where she was searching for her sister, and it didn't matter what the healer said or what the woman looked like. She wasn't giving up again.

Maybe Mirjami saw it in her face, because she suddenly leaned forward. "Look here girl, I don't care if the person in the mountains is a robber or a murderer or a witch after all or an angel committing a penance. They've done a greater good than the people in this village can understand. You're looking for someone who's lost, aren't you?" Anna nodded timidly. "You go up in those mountains and you'll be the one lost. And if you are delivered to my door, you'll be less your coin and less your will besides. Do you still want to go?"

"Yes," she said immediately.

The healer hummed and leaned back. "Then you'd best pray you're as good a hunter as the woman in the mountain."

—

She gave them tea after that, and some rolls to sleep on in exchange for some gold. The next morning she cooked them breakfast and guided them to the base of the mountain. Anna left even more money in a small bag on her table, since she had done more than her share to help them and odds seemed high they were going to get robbed anyway.

"Are you ready for this?" Kristoff asked once they were again alone.

"Absolutely," she said. "I've been ready for years. How hard can climbing a mountain be?"

He laughed.

By noon it was patently clear that Kristoff was made for climbing mountains, and she was not. They were making good enough progress, but she was sore and winded and honestly had no idea where to go.

"I'm having fun!" Kristoff said cheerfully. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, shut up." She stuck her tongue out, and then panted. "Do you have a better plan?"

"There's a plan at all? I thought we were winging it."

"Of course there's a plan. The plan is to explore the mountain until we find Elsa."

"Ah. See, that sounds a lot like not having a plan to me."

"Yeah, well, that's just Plan A." Her foot was buried in a particularly deep snow drift, and she struggled to get it loose.

"Is there a Plan B then?" Kristoff tugged her up and set her on a firmer area.

"Plan B is where we almost freeze to death and that's when the robber woman finds us and takes us to Elsa." She brushed some snow off her cheeks. "See, Plan B kicks in automatically when Plan A fails, so really we're completely covered."

They walked in silence for a while more. Then he cleared his throat and said, "So, say we find her…"

"Good, Kristoff!" she cried. "I like this line of thought."

He rolled his eyes. "I meant the general 'her,' you know, whoever that is. Could be the robber woman."

"Aaaaaaaaand you ruined it."

"We find 'her,' and...she looks like your sister."

"Okay, this is picking up again."

"Except we don't actually know what your sister looks like because it's been thirteen years."

"Dropping back down a bit."

"How will you know?" he asked. "I mean we have an idea of what she might look like, Snow Queen and everything, but really? What'll make you sure?"

"She's my sister," Anna insisted. "I know my own sister." He gave her a thoroughly unimpressed look, and she sighed. "I'll...ask her some questions or something, I don't know."

"Like?" he prompted.

She bit her lip in thought. "Like...what was our nurse's name. Or our favorite food. Um. How our bedroom was decorated?" They'd played together all the time; surely she could use that somehow. "Ooh! I could ask her what we named our snowman!"

"You named your snowman?" Kristoff smirked. "Isn't that kind of pointless? They melt, you know."

She sniffed imperiously. "I wouldn't expect you to understand the bond between sisters."

"Still don't see what that has to do with the snowman melting."

"It was Elsa's idea," she said rolling her eyes. "So she'll have to remember it, right?"

"We can hope." He looked around and sighed. "Anna, you know we can't actually cover the whole mountain, right? It could take weeks just to get to the peak if it's dangerous, and who knows how many little nooks and crannies it might have?"

She'd thought of this at least a bit, and didn't have an answer except a pit of worry in her stomach. "We don't have to search the whole mountain," she said optimistically. "Just the part where Elsa is."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You're terrible at plans. I may never let you make a plan again."

She sighed, drew in a deep breath and shouted, "Elsa!"

"Whoa! What?"

"Well you didn't like Plan A, so we're modifying it." She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Elsa!" again.

Kristoff shook his head. "What makes you think that could possibly work?"

"Well, no one else seems to know her name, do they?" She shrugged. "Maybe they can't find her because they don't know who they're looking for."

He scratched his head. Then he cupped his own lips and yelled, "Elsa! Come out so your sister won't keep yelling and cause an avalanche!"

"Hey!" She frowned and looked around at the snow. "Is it really going to cause an avalanche?"

"No, but please stop yelling."

She made a face and shouted, "Elsa!" again just to annoy him.

—

_Elsa_!

_Elsa_!

The larks knew the name. It breathed life into their bodies, lived deep in their magic. Someone was calling for their mistress.

_Elsa_!

They were messengers. And they had never been given such a clear message. One after another they took to the sky, flying with purpose.

_Elsa_!

—

Olaf was playing with the hounds; or they were playing with him more like, bits of him at least, snapping at his arm as he flung them for a round of fetch, or sometimes tugging them right off his body to run around with. He chased them, alternately laughing or concerned depending on how viciously they were tearing at the twigs.

Jonne had been distracting them with thrown sticks of her own for a while, but the game had lost its fun, and now she sat with Snowy and watched them play. Her knife flashed between her fingers as she twirled it. On a whim she flung it towards the snowman, and it sunk neatly into his back.

Snowy snapped to attention and bounded over to Olaf. "Hello there!" Olaf reached out to pet Snowy, mindless of the fact that the wolf was trying to get to the knife in his back, and for a minute or more they turned in circles around each other.

Jonne laughed. "Olaf, hold still a moment, won't you?"

"Oh, okay." With the snowman still, Snowy was finally able to snap at the knife, tug it free, and bring it back to Jonne.

"There's a good dog," Jonne said, thumping the wolf on the rump. That's why Snowy was her favorite.

"Are you guys playing a new game? Can I play?" Olaf wandered over, and Frosty—or Chilly, it didn't really matter—snapped off one of his arms again and carried it away.

"That's all the game was," Jonne said, and abruptly stood up. "I'm going inside though, and you're welcome to come along."

"Ooh! We can play with Elsa!" Olaf trotted merrily after her, the hounds at his heels.

"If she'll have us," Jonne said.

The truth was that Elsa had been busy lately, distracted in something she didn't seem quite ready to share with either or them. It wasn't like the grand ice displays she used to make. This project of hers, whatever it was, involved more reading and drawing and what looked to be maps. Jonne hoped it was a plan to get them off this damned mountain. Never mind her own boredom; she didn't like the stories they'd been telling in the village, and knew that if it bothered her, Elsa was likely acutely distressed. 'Course, it wouldn't be a problem if Elsa didn't have such old fashioned ideas about 'home' and 'stability' and all that nonsense. But then Elsa had her reasons for the things she did, and Jonne tried to never have any reason at all, so in the end she listened to Elsa.

When they got home though Elsa wasn't doing anything more interesting than organizing the piles of pillows and furs that always ended up strewn around the castle. She smiled when they came in, before looking to Olaf with a frown. "Olaf, where's your arm?"

"Oh, you know, around." Chilly—Frosty?—darted past him, and he pointed with the one twig that was left. "There it goes! Hey, so, theoretically, if I ever did lose an arm, could you make me a new one? I'm not quite sure how that works."

"Please go get it," Elsa said in lieu of answering, and off he went.

Jonne sauntered up. "I've got something for you."

"Hm?"

She quickly smeared a snow flecked glove across Elsa's cheek, then laughed and rung an arm around her neck when she squawked and tried to squirm away.

"_Thank_ you," Elsa huffed. "You're in a good mood."

"Or a poor one I mean to improve."

"Can't you do something useful? Are the dishes clean?"

"This is how you mean us to spend our time? Really?" She loosed Elsa and stepped away, making a face so the other woman would know not to take her seriously. "Who are you looking to impress?"

"Well, you never know when the reindeer are going to wander by," she said airily. "I hate to give a bad impression."

"Are we having guests?" Olaf walked up, intact once again, and looked between them eagerly. "That's what this place needs, you know, more people!"

"We've already got more people than we meant too," Jonne said, and flicked his nose out of place.

"And we're very glad we do," Elsa said firmly. "Olaf, could you help me gather my papers?"

So she had been working this morning after all. Jonne followed after them, not making a move to help, but eying the books that were scattered around.

Olaf gathered two or three, but was soon distracted by a picture of wildflowers and ended up flipping through the pages instead. "Oh, aren't these lovely! I wonder what color they are?"

"Purple, yeah?" Jonne knelt next to him. "Those were in our garden when we were kids, weren't they Elsa?"

"It's generous to call it a garden." She looked down too. "Crocus. That's right." She gently closed the book and took the stack. "Would you like to see those flowers, Olaf?"

"Of course I would!" He lumbered to his feet, nearly dancing with excitement.

"Well," Elsa said. Then she stopped, considered, and just smiled. "Maybe one day."

"They grow in the snow, don't they?" Jonne asked, following Elsa again.

"They grow _through_ the snow. Their roots are in the ground, same as any other flower. They're a symbol of rebirth."

"And here I just thought they were purple," she mumbled to Olaf, who giggled.

Elsa put her books away, turned, made to speak, and paused again. Jonne thought she might finally be done brewing whatever it is had been on her mind for so long now. "I was thinking—"

Before she could finish, there was a flurry of noise as the larks suddenly burst into the room. Jonne ducked on instinct, and instead of flying at her face they shot straight over her head.

"Ha!" she crowed as she rose, but her smile died when the lark ignored her completely and instead circled Elsa. They hadn't ever done that as far as she could remember, and after three years their routines were certainly set.

Elsa was clearly baffled too. She held out a hand for the larks to alight on, but only one did briefly. They brushed her cheeks, landed to clutch at the fabric of her dress, flew in tight circles around her hair. Not even in the fiercest storm were they so desperate, and when Elsa's gaze met her there was a sliver of fear lacing it.

"Stay here," Jonne said at once. "I'll go out and see. Here, you fool things, take me, won't you?"

"They want me," Elsa said thoughtfully. "And I'm the one with the powers, aren't I?

"You couldn't hurt someone with those powers of yours if you tried."

For a moment storm clouds gathered in Elsa's eyes, blocking out the worry. "I seem to manage it well enough without trying."

"S'why it's best you don't go seeking trouble then. Better as defense, isn't it?" She slapped her cap on headed for the door. "Olaf, hold down the fort."

"Okay," he said, unnaturally subdued.

"Take the hounds at least," Elsa called. Jonne nodded sharply and whistled. The wolves were at her heels and the larks, acquiescent at last, led them to the cavern and towards the path down the mountain.

Though she would never had admitted it in front of Elsa, it was excitement, not fear, stirring her blood. Too long every day had been like every other. Now at last she had no idea what to expect, and it was thrilling. If there was a fight to be had she was itching for it; if there was some danger she would overpower it.

Elsa had her magic and her intellect to protect her. In this she didn't need Jonne or anyone else. So it was simply for the challenge that it would bring that she bade the wolves, "Stay here. Guard," at the lower entrance to the cave, bringing only Snowy along for company. The bracing mountain air brought a savage grin, and she looked to the larks. "Alright then. Lead the way."

—

_Really?_ she thought, and cursed the larks all over again.

Jonne hunkered in some brush. It was hard to disguise yourself on the slope, and hard to travel across the snow without the crunch of the ice giving you away, but she'd had plenty of practice and it didn't look like the travelers had seen her.

A young woman, her clothes too fine and new for such rough terrain. A man alongside, obviously hardy and used to the slopes. And a tame reindeer, if such a thing could exist, following behind.

They weren't in distress. They weren't hurt. They weren't armed. They didn't even look particularly well off, which might have at least made them tempting targets. They were simply wandering without clear aim and bickering like children. At this distance Jonne could only hear the tone, not the words, but she recognized the cadence of the argument well enough.

Well. If they were lost then she'd have to help them eventually, but she wasn't about to step forward with herself outnumbered and the travelers in seeming good health. She preferred her pickings a bit more assured than that.

"Damn fool birds," she muttered and carefully stood, keeping well out of sight.

Perhaps they'd heard her, because suddenly there was a wet _splat_ as one flew directly into her cheek. She bit down a swear and staggered, barely managing to keep from stumbling from her hiding place. Then there was another impact, and another, the whole flock bombarding her. Without intention she was shouting, staggering; when the larks withdrew at last she found herself in the open, staring at a woman, a man, and a very confused reindeer.

—

"Hello," Anna said instinctively. Instantly Kristoff's hand was on her shoulder, squeezing painfully hard. She knew why. A woman in the mountain, with dark hair? They only knew those two facts about the robber woman, of course, and it wasn't much, but this woman did match both.

Still. Anna had the idea from the stories Mirjami had told that the robber woman was...stealthy. Crafty. How else could she have gone so long without being discovered? No one in the village save the healer seemed to know about her at all. This woman had just burst from the brush, under attack by what looked like a flock of birds, and now stared at her and Kristoff as if she didn't know how any of them, herself least of all, had gotten up the mountain. It wasn't exactly the image of the ruthless bandit queen the stories had drilled into her head.

The woman blinked, and then raised her arm in greeting. "'Lo," she said, and Anna was almost instantly charmed.

"Do you live on the mountain?" she called. The question seemed to shake the woman out of her confusion, and she straightened.

"No," she said. "No one does. 'Less they got a wish for a slow death, I suppose."

Before she could respond, Kristoff was tugging on her desperately. "Anna we don't know who that is," he hissed.

"She might be able to help us," Anna whispered back.

"Or she might kill us and rob our corpses."

"Please, that's not how it works up here."

"Maybe she's in the mood for trying something new!"

Anna ignored him and called, "I'm sorry, but we're a little lost. Do you know this mountain very well?"

"Passing well," the woman said reluctantly. Anna took a few steps closer, but she withdrew and toyed with the knife at her belt. "You're needing the way down? This is a dangerous place, and you ought not go wandering around."

"Then what are you doing up here?" Kristoff said. His voice was colored by suspicion, and Anna could have hit him. Even if she wasn't the robber from the stories, she knew the mountain, and they needed that. They couldn't scare her off now.

"Hunting," she answered shortly.

"Without a rifle?"

She scowled. "Haven't you ever heard of traps?"

He crossed his arms. "Traps usually hold the animals, don't they? I think yours need some work."

Her face twisted further, and she abruptly spun away. "Go on then, get lost and freeze to death for all I care. I've no time for the likes of you."

"Wait!" Anna called, desperation leaking into her voice. "Wait, please, I need…" Maybe it was just her exhaustion, or the realization that she could spend months combing the mountains and not getting close to Elsa at all. But she was too tired for half-truths and trickery, and she didn't care a bit if it got them robbed after all. "Please," she said again, "My name is Princess Anna of Arendelle, and…"

Next to her Kristoff groaned in exasperation and threw his hands into the air, but that wasn't what had stopped her. At the sound of her name something had flashed across the woman's face, and even though she was obviously trying to hold it blank now, Anna had seen it clear as day. _Recognition_. "...And you know who I am!"

"What?" Kristoff asked, but the woman just thinned her lips and remained silent.

"You know my name!" Anna persisted. She stepped forward again, and though the woman didn't move back, she did hold the hilt of her knife more firmly. "Don't you?"

"Suppose I'm just surprised to meet someone daft enough to believe themselves a princess in a place as miserable as this," she said. The tone was clearly meant to be casual, but there was a strain in her voice that she couldn't quite shed.

"Then I suppose you're going to tell me you don't know of my sister, Princess Elsa." Anna was barely a body length from the woman now and decided it was best to stop outside of the range of that knife.

This time there wasn't even an attempt to hide her reaction. The woman sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and slumped. Then she straightened and looked at Anna, eyes sharp and bright. "Can't say she's ever called herself that where I could hear."

"Where is she?" Anna demanded at once. "Where's my sister?!"

"I don't know," the woman said, "but I could find her. Go to the foot of the mountain; I'll—"

"No!" Anna snapped. "You're lying! I know she's up in this mountain."

"Anna—" Kristoff reached for her, but she jerked away, stalking towards the woman. In a flash the knife she had been playing with was in her hand, pointed towards Anna's throat. Kristoff jerked her back and pulled out his ice axe, wielding it like a weapon.

"So, this is going well," Kristoff said. "How about we all put our weapons away and talk about this like civilized people?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Anna said, her eyes locked on the woman. "She's taking us to Elsa. Right now."

"You're a damned short-sighted fool," the woman snarled, "and I can't tell you what that means coming from me. You know a name and nothing else; if I know what you think I do, then you ought to trust my word and wait at the bottom of the mountain."

"And I'm telling you I won't!"

"_Please_," the woman said. It was enough to bring Anna up short. "I'm not asking for my sake. You're supposed to be a ghost, thirteen years gone, and I don't know what'll happen now that you're here." She swallowed. "All I'm asking is a little time."

It was such a reasonable request, and one Anna knew she couldn't possible entertain. Not now. Not when they were so close. "I can't," she said. There was an apology in her words. "I can't wait anymore. It's my sister. And I am not coming down from this mountain without her." For a moment they stared at each other, everyone rigid with tension. Then Anna drew back her shoulders, opening her chest into a clear target. "If you want to stop me, you're going to have to stab me."

The woman cursed, spit, then cursed again, a string of profanity the likes of which Anna had never heard. She then fell to her knees, stabbed the ground several times, and flung a loose handful of snow towards Anna and Kristoff for good measure.

"Fine," she said, and called Anna a few more choice words. "Fine. Come on, Your Highness, and let's see if you haven't fucked up entirely, hm?"

She climbed to her feet and whirled, heading further up the mountain without waiting to see if she was being followed. For a moment the release of tension was so complete that Anna felt almost faint; then Kristoff was at her shoulder, shaking her.

"Anna, I swear if you ever invite someone with a knife to stab you again, _I'm_ going to stab you," he said. "Or, okay, I'm not going to stab you, I'm going to watch you get stabbed or maybe get stabbed trying to help you, and either way I'm probably going to cry and it's going to be terrible, so there."

"Trust me, I don't want to do that again," she said. "Now come on, we're going to get left behind."

—

They had barely started their journey when what seemed to be a white wolf trotted from the bushes to walk next to the woman.

"Is that wolf made out of snow?" Anna asked.

"Oh my God, she's real," Kristoff mumbled.

She looked at him. "After all this did you think she wasn't?"

"Honestly I kind of thought she was just taking us somewhere else to stab us," he said. "I kind of still do." He looked at the wolf again and covered his face with his hands. "She's real. She can make snow creatures and she's real."

"She's real," Anna said, and suddenly the doubt she hadn't even realized was still weighing on her dissipated. She was wonderfully, impossibly light; she felt she could climb a thousand mountains, if she knew they would bring her to Elsa.

The woman led them to what seemed to be a cliff face. There were snow drifts all around, and in front of Anna's eyes they solidified into yet more wolves. She cautiously reached her hand out to the closest one. Its muzzle, which had been seamless, suddenly split into a wide mouth with sharp icicle fangs.

"Down, dog," the woman said mildly. She pressed on what had appeared to be a section of rock, and it slid sideways into the stone around it.

Anna didn't know much about caves, but there were always secret entrances and pathways in palaces, and she had to admire the ingenuity of it all. There was no way to find the entrance without knowing where it was, and, a little further down, no way to climb the sheer rock face they ran into except with the perfectly constructed ice stairway frozen against the wall. This was a place made for privacy.

After she had dragged Kristoff away from admiring the ice and got Sven settled at the bottom of the stairs (they were too narrow and slippery for him to manage) the woman brought them into another cave, this one clearly lived in with a firepit and kitchen wares strewn about, and finally through a set of grand ice doors.

"Wait here," she said, and scampered off before they could protest. There was a hard threat in her voice, and Anna thought she might use the knife after all if it came to it.

With little else to do, they occupied themselves with admiring what they could see of the structure they were in. "Anna," Kristoff said, voice heavy with awe, "I think this is a whole house made out of ice."

Anna looked around. It was hard to tell just from this room, but most of the walls were at least somewhat translucent, and it was obvious the building went on quite a ways. "This isn't just a house; I think it's a castle."

He sniffled. "I regret every mean thing I've ever said to you. This is the greatest day of my life."

"I'm glad you like the ice," she said. Mentally though she was screaming. The ice? The ice made it the greatest day of his life?! She was about to see her sister! The sister she thought was dead but who was alive and living with a robber woman on a mountain and also apparently had a keen eye for architecture and engineering and was probably better than Anna at cooking because of all the pots and pans she had seen because the robber woman didn't look like she was much of a cook so it had to be Elsa and oh goodness Anna was going to pass out right there and crack her head on the lovely ice. That would be a terrible first impression. She wondered if it was possible to hyperventilate while holding your breath.

"Hi!"

She screamed, but at least Kristoff did too. He grabbed at her while she flailed, and when they were righted she saw a small snowman watching them.

"My name's Olaf and I like warm hugs!" he chirped, arms wide in invitation.

"A snowman," Kristoff mumbled. "Snowman, snow dogs, yeah, okay, I get it."

Anna couldn't speak. There was a memory seared in her brain, bright and fresh from this very morning, when she had thought to revisit it as a test if they were to find Elsa. And here was the answer, delivered in his own words.

"Olaf?" she asked, voice wavering. He looked up at her and nodded.

_Elsa made Olaf._

Oh, God, it was really Elsa.

Then the doors at the far side of the room opened, and it _was_ Elsa, striding towards them. Her face was twisted in confusion and not a small amount of worry, but otherwise she was exactly like the woman Anna had imagined. Not the confusing and occasionally frightening visions on the ship, the ones that had later become polluted by rumors and stories. No; it was the Elsa she had pictured in her bedroom, tall and fair and beautiful and _perfect_.

Her sister. Found at last.

"Elsa!" She was running, sliding, skidding across the ice floor, and when she hit Elsa it was more of a slam than a hug. She could see the robber woman behind Elsa, her eyes comically wide, hands poised as if she expected a blow. "Elsa, Elsa, oh…"

Elsa was trembling. She lifted her hands to rest on Anna's arms, shifted them briefly to press against her back, and finally moved them to Anna's shoulder and gently pushed her away. Her eyes, those bright blue eyes that hadn't changed at all, were shining with tears, but her expression was still one of confusion. Anna held her breath, wanting to do nothing more than make her case, convince Elsa that she was really there, but her voice was lost completely.

"Anna?" she asked. It was a genuine question, not a confirmation. She carefully cupped Anna's cheek with shaking fingers, then looked at, and touched, the white streak winding through her hair. At the touch Anna could see the confusion draining from her expression to be replaced with shock and—_please please let it be_—hope.

"Anna," she said, and there was no question this time. Just awe, and disbelieving wonder. "You're here."

Anna nodded. "I'm here."


	11. Chapter 11

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid and slow. Her plans had taken too long. She'd become complacent, and now they would pay for it. The larks had frightened her deeply, and now it was too late to run.

Elsa had been plotting. She's come to realize (far too late) that her ideas of somewhere to stay, a place to call home, weren't rooted in the life she led now. Rather, they were the remnants of her childhood memories. Of the life she had thought she ought to make for herself again, because that's just how it should be.

Her memories of Arendelle, though weak and faded, had taken on a rose-tinted warmth. All she could remember of it, outside of that one terrible night, was being happy. She had taken that for granted for so long it felt like the truth.

But it wasn't. She ought to have realized that when she started thinking fondly of the time she and Jonne had spent in the robbers' den. All she wanted to remember was the fun they shared, the simplicity and stability of being cared for. She had to force herself to remember the rumblings of drunken and violent men, the discomfort and fear.

Objectively she knew Arendelle had been better than that, at least. But it hadn't been perfect. Her parents, as much as they loved her, had been frightened of her as well. She remembered stern words and scolding. Then there was Anna (or maybe there wasn't anymore, not after what she had done, and that was the one thing she couldn't bear to find out).

She had made herself a house because she'd had one in Arendelle. She'd made it a castle because she used to be a princess. But she wasn't a princess anymore, and she could never go back to Arendelle. She had abandoned even the idea. She was ready to move on.

But she had been too slow. It had made sense to study maps and plan their routes. When it was only her and Jonne it didn't matter if they were seen sometimes. Now though there was Olaf, and she had to take care of him. Protect him, while still showing him so much of the wide world that he wanted to see.

Please, whatever this new threat or news was, let them get through it, and then she would take them somewhere safe. She'd find a way. She had to protect her own.

There were distant thumps and voices. She spun, and could just barely see the dark blob that indicated Jonne's return through the translucent ice walls. Her own pale coloring and light dress made her very nearly impossible to find, she knew, but Jonne was almost always easy to see.

She looked strange right now though. Oddly colored and over large. Then one dark smudge detached from the others, and she suddenly realized that Jonne wasn't alone.

Cutting fear lanced through her, sending a ripple of spikes through the ice around her feet. She flattened them immediately; if she did have to use her powers, it would be with intention. She couldn't keep flecks of ice from dancing between in fingertips though, and focused on the magic, ready to form it into a weapon if need be.

The dark shape was moving towards her, and even though she recognized its lines, its gait, she could feel her whole body tensing, pinpricks of alertness sharpening her senses.

But it was Jonne after all opening the door, then stopping in the entryway to stare at her. Elsa gasped. She wasn't hurt. Oh, thank God, she could breath again.

"What's going on?" she demanded. She looked back through the walls. There were two distinct shapes that she could see. Two strangers that shouldn't be here.

Jonne tamped her foot on the ground, knocked her fist against the wall, and said, "We have guests."

"What?"

"I met a woman in the mountains."

Elsa looked back at the unknown shapes. There was more than just a woman. "But why—"

"She says her name is Anna." Elsa's eyes shot back to Jonne, who kicked her heel against the wall like she was angry but looked only apologetic. "She says she's Princess Anna of Arendelle. She says she's looking for her sister Elsa."

Elsa could do nothing but stare. She thought she had heard Jonne clearly enough, but nothing in the words she had said or the way she put them together made any sense. Were her previous thoughts intruding on her understanding? Had she had a stroke? Was she having a dream? Or a nightmare? Anna featured equally in both.

But Jonne stood in front of her, and it felt real. There was a pressure in her feet because of the hard ice and an itch where the back of her dress met her neck and warmth where her hands were pressed against her stomach. All these things felt real. And there were shapes still, people she didn't know, below them. Jonne wouldn't have revealed their home to just anyone. There _had_ to be a reason, if she could just put her head right. But it couldn't..._couldn't_ be Anna. Anna couldn't be here, she was…

She was alive. If Anna was here, it meant she was alive.

Elsa staggered. Jonne was almost immediately at her side, holding her up. "Is she—I mean, is it really…?" Elsa stumbled, stammered. She couldn't speak over the heart hammering in her chest.

Jonne bit her lip, hard, and gave a wild shrug. "She's...she's incredibly stubborn and she's got red twintails and I can't tell if her eyes are blue or green and she hikes like she doesn't know the first thing about climbing mountains." A pause. "And she knows your name. And she wanted to come straight here, I didn't know what to do, Elsa, I'm sorry."

Sorry? What could she be sorry for? If it was true...if she was right, then Anna was alive. Anna was here, and alive.

Then someone (_Anna!_) shrieked, and Elsa was tearing through the rooms before she could stop to think.

—

The collision very nearly knocked the breath out of her lungs. The woman (_Anna?_) was holding her. Elsa's body was rigid, her hands deliberately still. She waited for the ripple of cold in her blood, the crackle of ice in her bones, but there was nothing. She wasn't afraid. She was in shock. She was numb. Slowly, carefully, she released her muscles to motion again.

She didn't know what to do with her hands. Should she hug? Wasn't that normal, wasn't that the thing to do if it was her sister? She made to wrap her arms tentatively around the other woman, but the motion felt strange and died halfway through.

She had to know. She couldn't tell and had to know. Gently, almost regretfully, she disentangled herself and pushed away.

The woman before her was grown. That in itself didn't feel right. The Anna of her memories was so small. Her baby sister. _Of course_, her mind said, _of course she's grown. You've grown too_. But Elsa had spent over a decade with the image of a little girl seared into her head, and she couldn't reconcile it with the young woman standing in front of her. The pieces were there: the ginger plaits, the freckles, those eyes that looked mostly blue now, against the ice palace. But like Jonne's announcement, she just couldn't put the pieces together in a way that made sense.

Her eyes darted searchingly, desperately. Shouldn't she know? Her own name had been called confidently enough. How could she possibly tell, when it had been so long?

Then she saw the pale strands winding through a single braid, and she remembered. Holding Anna, feeling her skin cool and her breath slow, and seeing the burst of white crackle across her scalp. A mark of magic. In the shock of everything else that had happened that night, a lock of hair had been easily forgotten. Now she remembered. And understood.

"Anna," she said. "You're here."

And Anna—because it was Anna after all, Anna who'd found her, Anna who was real and vibrant and fervent and _alive_—nodded. "I'm here."

She crushed Anna to her chest. Oh, God, how could she have hesitated before? How could she have ever passed up the chance to hold her sister? Anna let out a blubbery laugh and buried her face in Elsa's neck.

Someone cleared their throat. Oh; it was a young man, the second strange shape, who she hadn't even noticed until just now. "Hi," he said, and then winced. "Uh. Hello, Princess Elsa. We, we uh, have some questions for you—"

"No we don't," Anna said. Her voice was thick, but when she pulled away her cheeks were still dry. Elsa felt the loss keenly. "It's Elsa."

"Right…" the young man said skeptically. "But—"

"It's Elsa," Anna said firmly. She took another step back and said, "She made Olaf!"

"Well," said the snowman, "everyone else seems to know each other." He glanced briefly around the assembled group. "So you're...Anna?"

"Yes," she said. Though she was talking to Olaf her eyes darted back to Elsa every few seconds, and it was to Elsa she said, "This is Kristoff," as she put a hand to her companion's arm. Then her eyes flicked to the side.

"Jonne," the woman in question said, stepping even with Elsa.

"This is just wonderful!" Olaf wagged a finger at Jonne. "And you said we didn't need guests!"

"I've long accepted that I'm wrong about most everything," she said cheerfully. Elsa finally managed to tear her eyes from Anna to glance briefly at her best friend, who grinned and winked.

"So the snowman's name was Olaf," Kristoff mused. "Do you name all your snowmen that, or...?"

"It's not just the name." Anna knelt down and set a hand against Olaf's back. "He's just the same as before! From when we were kids."

"Exactly," Elsa said, her voice soft, because Anna couldn't possibly know how very close this Olaf was to that night. They were staring at each other again, and she thought she'd never get enough. There were thirteen years of lines and patterns and freckles, of quirks and habits, that she had missed. She hadn't realized how badly she wanted to know. Had told herself it didn't matter because she would never see her family or Arendelle again. Now Anna was here, and she drank her fill.

"When you were kids? Oh, I love kids! Tell me about it, please," Olaf begged.

"Well, I mean it was a long time ago, but I remember Elsa building you. 'Cause—right, 'cause I was sitting there modeling for you." She looked to Elsa, who nodded.

"Come again?" Jonne asked, glancing back and forth between Anna and Olaf. "You were modeling for...Olaf?" When she looked at Elsa her eyes were sparkling with mirth. "Not your best likeness."

"Well, I was smaller then," Anna huffed.

"Mm-hm, mm-hm." Jonne rested a fist against her chin in a thoughtful pose that was really meant to hide her laughter.

"And I was making a funny face, like—" She squeezed her cheeks between her hands. Kristoff snickered, and spun away when she glared at him. Jonne pressed her fist hard against her mouth.

"Please don't stop," she said eventually. "This story is just getting better the more you tell it."

Anna made a face, then turned to Elsa. "Right? That's what happened."

"That's right," Elsa said. Strange, though, that Anna would talk about building a snowman before she would talk about the accident that happened afterwards. But maybe it was a delicate topic; she wasn't sure it was something she herself wanted to talk about just yet, for so many reasons.

"Anna," she said instead, "how did you find us?"

"Oh," she flapped a hand erratically, "it's a long story. I mean I'll tell you—absolutely!—I'm just warning you."

"Short version is we heard of the Snow Queen," Kristoff said.

"Right, and since you apparently had ice powers, I thought, 'Maybe it's Elsa!'" She beamed, and Elsa did too, but something in the wording niggled at the back of her mind.

"Apparently?" she asked.

Anna squeezed her lips together. "Long story. Like I said."

"Of course," she said immediately, "of course. Well." She laughed lightly, because she wouldn't be able to contain herself otherwise. There was something simmering below her elation, which she thought might be nerves or fear or guilt. She refused to bow to it. Not now. "Tell me about Arendelle. How are Mother and Father?"

Anna, jerked, an unconscious twitch, and stood before Elsa could see her expression. When their eyes did meet Anna's were wide and glassy. She looked almost guilty, and the smile quickly slid from Elsa's face.

For a moment there was a nearly unnatural quiet. Then Kristoff cleared his throat and set a hand on Anna's shoulder. "The King and Queen were lost at sea three years ago," he said. "I'm sorry."

She didn't understand immediately. Then she did, and the ice plunged deep into her bones. And shattered.

* * *

Elsa had gone rigid as a statue. As a block of ice. Her back was a bar of iron, straight and solid, and her hands were clasped so tightly together that there couldn't have been a sliver of air between them. Her eyes didn't meet Anna's, not now, and even if they had Anna doubted she would have seen her at all.

It happened before Anna could speak, could act at all. Then Jonne stepped neatly in front of Elsa and said, "We usually eat supper in the cave since that's where the fire is. How about you go see what it's like, yeah?"

"O-okay," Anna stammered. She couldn't see Elsa, and she couldn't tell which hurt worse: the lack right now, or the look in Elsa's eyes when they were visible.

"Sounds great, thanks." Kristoff turned and guided her back towards the ice doors. In the entryway Anna looked back once more. She could see Jonne turned around, and Elsa's hands lifting, or maybe reaching. Then the door closed behind them, and she could see nothing at all.

She should have said something. She should have said _anything_. She had three years of condolences built up in her head, after all. Maybe they wouldn't have felt quite so bitter or empty to Elsa.

She sat on a collection of blankets, dropped her head to her knees, and groaned.

"That...could have been worse," Kristoff said carefully.

"How?"

"She could have _not_ started crying and hugging you."

"Mmmf." She pressed her face into her knees so hard she saw spots. "Did she have to ask that though?"

"She'd find out eventually. She'd probably figure it out when we got back to Arendelle, if nothing else." Anna nodded, but her own head was spinning, thinking of scenarios where Elsa didn't have to know. Not yet. Where she didn't _lie_ to Elsa, of course, but where she could...protect her from the knowledge, for a while. Or where she could have at least broken it to her gently, or at _all_. She shouldn't have had to hear that from a stranger.

There was a dip when Kristoff sat next to her, and when he said, "Anna," his voice was completely serious. She looked up at him. "What are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, her own voice dull. "We're going back to Arendelle. I guess we might have to bring her friend though; do you think Sven will be okay?"

"You don't need to worry about Sven." He sighed and knocked a fist against his knee. "It's just not going to be as simple as just showing up with a lost princess, is it? It's—it's complicated."

"Everything's complicated, Kristoff," she said, "all the time. But things keep happening anyway." Anna couldn't remember the last time anything in her life had been easy, not with a kingdom to run and a court to appease. She wasn't so simple as to think that she could just bring Elsa home and she'd fit just as easily as before she left. But she was going to bring Elsa home. It was time, finally.

Assuming they hadn't just completely ruined things. She was out of things to say, and Kristoff was in one of his uncomfortable, quiet moods, so they just sat. And waited.

An interminable amount of time later the door opened, and she snapped to attention. But it was only Olaf, skipping merrily into the cave, followed by Jonne.

"So!" Jonne said, clapping her hands. "It's getting late, isn't it?" She looked between them and said, "Can either of you cook?"

Kristoff shook his head sharply. Anna studied her. She looked normal; at ease and cheerful enough. So where was Elsa?

"Well, we don't have much need for layabouts around here, do we Olaf?" she continued.

"Nope!" he said, and trotted over to begin cutting up some vegetables. "So, I feel like we hardly got to talk earlier! Where are you from?"

"Arendelle," Anna said. Kristoff had leaned back to get a clearer look at the snowman. For having such thin, fragile looking arms, he was doing well enough with the food. "We came by boat."

"Wow! You know, I've never been out on the water, but I would like to go swimming sometime." Anna's brow furrowed in confusion at that, but before she could ask Olaf continued, "What's it like where you're from?"

"Oh, well, I live close to the water. Right on a harbor. And there's mountains all around." This was easy. This was good. She could feel herself relaxing. Olaf and Jonne looked fine, and they had left Elsa alone, so she had to be fine, right? "It's to the south, so it's warmer than it is up here."

"Oh!" Olaf dropped the potato to look at her. "Are there lots of flowers and animals?"

"Of course," she said warmly. "In fact, there's actually a duck pond in the castle garden."

"Do you hear that?" he called over his shoulder to Jonne.

"Mind your task," she called back. Though she seemed to consider her own work done at putting on a kettle of water to heat, and now entertained herself cleaning her knife. So much for no room for layabouts. Then she sighed, twirled the knife, and sent it flying across the room into Olaf's back.

Anna gasped in alarm. Olaf though seemed thoroughly unperturbed. He looked back at the jutting handle, then spun his whole torso independently of his body so that the knife was in front.

"Whoa," Kristoff said. "How does he do that?"

"Oh, that? That's nothing. Just, you know, part of being me." Olaf tugged the knife out and returned it to Jonne, his body spinning back right along the way.

"You can take him all apart if you like," Jonne said. Anna would hit Kristoff if he dared.

She lifted the knife again, and Anna cried out and dove forward to block Olaf's little body with her hands. He seemed fine, true, but you just shouldn't throw _knives_ at people! "What are you _doing_?"

Jonne blinked, then grinned savagely. "You don't have much of a survival instinct, do you?"

"Okay!" Kristoff said, hoisting himself up. "Anna, how about we go check on Sven?"

"Who's Sven?"

Anna started. It was Elsa, standing in the doorway, hands folded and face smooth. For an instant she was elated; then she got a good look, and her heart sunk. Before where Elsa had looked confused or happy or...okay, mostly just those two things, but she had at least been _expressive_. Now her face was completely closed. She didn't look sad, exactly; she didn't look like anything at all. That somehow made Anna more nervous than grief would have.

"He's, uh, my reindeer," Kristoff mumbled. "He couldn't get up the stairs." Was he nervous too?

"Oh." Elsa's eyes met Anna's briefly, but then she looked instead to the open back of the cave. "I'll help bring him up."

As soon as they reached the ledge above Sven, the reindeer bellowed and excitedly started trying to race towards them, slipping repeatedly on the ice. "Whoa, buddy, you're going to hurt yourself!" Kristoff called, hurrying down the stairway. Anna hesitated for a moment, part of her wanting to stay with Elsa, most of her wanting to do anything at all that wasn't drowning in awkward silence. She went down the stairs.

Kristoff was talking comfortingly to Sven and scratching his chin. "...and don't make a mess, it's not our house, okay?" he was saying as Anna approached. Elsa hadn't moved, and now she looked down on them. Her eyes were solidly trained on Anna; maybe it was easier when there was a bit of distance?

"Hold onto him," she called, and Anna and Kristoff each obligingly looped an arm across Sven's back.

"Do you think she's gonna make more stairs?" Kristoff whispered. "She can do that, right, I mean I've been assuming—"

Then ice sprouted beneath their feet, and more shot up in a circle around them, forming rails even as they themselves were lifted into the air on top of a thick pillar. Anna gasped and clung to Sven; Sven panted in excitement; Kristoff gaped, then collapsed to lay flush against the ice, whimpering.

"Kristoff?!" They'd reached the top of the ledge, and a thick ice bridge reached out to meet them. Sven immediately jogged forward, snuffling curiously at Elsa, who flinched backward but then gamely petted his nose.

"Look at this," Kristoff whispered, stroking the surface of the perfectly formed pillar. "It's flawless!"

"Wow," Anna said. It was almost too ridiculous to laugh at. "Okay. Do you need a minute alone with the ice?"

"You just don't appreciately true artistry," he snapped, pushing himself up.

"Oh no, no, it's lovely!" she said, somehow managing to not snicker. "But, I mean, there's even nicer ice inside if you want to pet that instead."

"That is where my best work is," Elsa said. When Anna looked back, her eyes were sparkling with mirth. Well, Kristoff could be as strange as he wanted about the ice if this was the result.

"Yeah, okay," Kristoff said weakly, climbing to his feet and following them back inside.

Immediately everything descended into near chaos. The room and everything in it was situated for two people plus snowman, not four people plus snowman plus reindeer. It was a miracle they finished any kind of supper at all, but finally the four of them sat around a little table while Sven contentedly munched vegetables in the corner and Olaf cleaned.

In the noise and activity Anna hadn't been able to get a word in to Elsa, and whatever easy amusement she had felt earlier had disappeared completely. Now Elsa sat next to her, silent, the fingers on her left hand flicking and twitching while thin tendrils of ice danced between them, forming shapes that almost instantly dissolved and shifted into something new.

"That's lovely," she blurted, and for a moment Elsa looked confused. Then she looked at her own hand as if just noticing its motion, and pulled it under the table.

"Sorry," she said.

"What—no! I mean, it really is pretty. It's amazing, what you can do." She looked desperately to Kristoff, who thinned his lips and shrugged.

"It relaxes me," Elsa said softly. She shifted, made to set her hand back on the table, then dropped it below again.

"Well," Jonne said heartily, and Anna thought she had never been quite so grateful in all her life, "I think you lot owe us the story of how you got here. It's a long one, yeah?"

"Right," Anna said, and looked at Kristoff again. But of course he wouldn't know quite where to start. "Well…"

The telling got them all the way through dinner, which she and Kristoff ate in shifts while the other spoke. She tried to keep it as simple as possible, starting with her request for Captain Halvard to take them into the mountain. She told them about the trolls, about the magic, but on instinct found herself softening the words as much as she could, so that Elsa wouldn't feel like she had been forgotten completely. Her anger and resentment she left out completely.

At the end of it Jonne leaned back, hummed, and said, "I've more respect for gossipers now. Who knew they could send words halfway 'round the world?"

"My father said words do more harm in politics than anything else," Anna said. Then her words caught up to her, her stomach dropped sickeningly, and she looked to Elsa.

But Elsa simply looked thoughtful. Her hand was back out on the table, and ice still flew in and out of her fingers. It must be an unconscious tic, for all the attention she was paying it. "I'm glad," she said, "that you heard. That you found us." Her eyes were deadly intense, and Anna couldn't look away.

Anna beamed. She'd thought, under the weight of everything else, that maybe Elsa hadn't wanted to see her after all. That maybe she had just been shocked into a polite reaction. "Elsa," she asked, "what do you remember?" Elsa blinked and made to pull away. "I mean!" Anna said quickly, "I mean, that's the only thing we still don't know. What exactly happened when we were kids. Do you…?"

She remembered everything. She recounted the night of the aurora with a clarity that took Anna's breath away, starting with Anna bouncing on her bed and ending with Jonne finding her in the woods. Those kinds of memories could only be sharpened by years of repetition, and Anna felt something between grief and guilt. But at last she knew. Everything was put right in her head, and that was the first step to making it right for good.

"Are Arendelle princesses just not scared of knives?" Kristoff asked. It was the first thing he had said in a while. He looked between Anna and Elsa, and ended at Jonne. "You seriously poked her with a knife?"

"In my defense I thought I was poking a corpse," Jonne said, which didn't sound like any kind of defense at all.

"I was very scared," Elsa admitted.

"And you became friends?" he asked.

Elsa and Jonne shared a look that Anna couldn't read. There was a weight to it that piqued her interest, but she didn't want to assume. Yet, at any rate.

"Well, you'll just have to come back to Arendelle with us," she told Jonne amicably. Instantly the warmth in Elsa's face recoiled, and in its place was that cool blankness.

"Arendelle?" she asked, her voice just barely wobbling.

"Yes," Anna said with a frown. "I...I thought that—"

She was interrupted by a loud yawn. "Sorry," Kristoff said around it. "Ah—long day."

"It's late," Elsa said immediately. "You should rest." She pushed herself away from the table, then paused to look at Anna and say, "We can talk tomorrow."

"Right," Anna said. "Okay." She nodded once sharply to herself, as if that made things make any kind of sense.

—

She'd thought, between the buzz in her head and the sickening sinking her stomach, that she wouldn't get any sleep at all. So it was a surprise when she awoke in the middle of the night to a weight on her chest and a roaring in her ear.

It was Jonne, snoring like some kind of sinus-riddled water buffalo. Earlier in the night Elsa had curled against the very edge of the amorphous pile of blankets that formed their bed. Jonne and plopped next to her, leaving Anna next to Jonne and Kristoff on the other edge. He and Sven seemed completely oblivious to the noise, and Olaf was nowhere to be seen.

She huffed, and shook Jonne to exactly no reaction. She tried to bear it for about a minute, then hauled herself up and shook the other woman more roughly.

She still didn't stir, and Anna didn't want to call out and wake anyone else up. So with a significant amount of shoving she managed to roll Jonne to her side, facing away from Anna. That position lasted all of a few seconds before she rolled back onto her back, her hand catching Anna sharply in the cheek as it flopped back over and her snores even louder than before.

Anna rubbed her stinging cheek and scowled. How did Elsa sleep like this?

Then she realized that Elsa's place on the bed was empty, and there was no trace of her in the room around them.

She carefully shifted out from under the blankets and stood. Then she squeaked and fell back on the furs as her toes reminded her it was _ice_ she was standing on. Sven huffed and sleepily opened his eyes.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered, pulling on her socks and boots. For good measure she pulled a fur off Jonne, who didn't seem like she would notice it anyway, and draped it around her shoulders as she went to search. Sven watched her go, and she scratched his ear.

It was eerie in the ice castle at night. Light eked in through the not quite opaque walls, but it was weak and scattered. She took a closer look and realized that even though the walls were perfectly smooth to the touch, there were patterns embedded in them, crystals and snowflakes and all manner of shapes that caught the light. She was breathless, and felt a little bad about teasing Kristoff earlier.

In one particular area the light wasn't just fractured, but flickering. She took a deep breath a followed it.

Elsa was huddled in the middle of the floor, knees drawn to her chest and ice and snow flying around her. She looked at Anna with a profound fear and all-consuming grief. "Don't come near me," she warned.

Anna stopped a step inside the doorway, then sat, using the fur as a cushion. Her stomach churned, and her heart felt leaden, but what could she say? There were no words to ease this kind of grief.

Elsa breathed deeply, rhythmically, her breath stuttering and shaking. Slowly, slowly, the snow faded and the wind died. The ice however kept dancing beneath her feet.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I was trying to hold it in but—" Her voice caught on a sob.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Anna said, trying to keep her own tears from falling. This wasn't her time to cry.

"I do," Elsa moaned, burying her face in her knees. Anna inched closer, stopping when Elsa raised her head again. "But I don't—I don't know what it is."

"What do you mean?" When Elsa didn't speak Anna shook her head and said, "_I'm_ sorry. I should have told you differently. I should have—"

"No," Elsa gasped. She shook her head, burying it again before looking out into the night sky. "I thought you were dead." Anna froze stock still. "I was so scared I had killed you. I thought...I thought if I had then I could never go back. And if I hadn't, then Arendelle didn't need me anymore, so there was no point."

"I needed you," Anna said at once. Elsa trembled.

"I barely remember them," she said. "I memorized everything I could about you because I thought that was all I'd ever have, but I can't remember them at all."

Anna's heart broke. "Oh, Elsa…"

"Am I allowed to mourn them?" Anna shifted closer again. "If I never really knew them at all? If—If it's only my fault I didn't go home when I was able?"

"Of course," Anna said soothingly. "Of course."

"I feel so..._selfish_." She drove a palm into the floor, and the ice flared briefly. "That—that I let myself forget them, that I didn't go home, that I let myself be so scared for so long." Her eyes met Anna's. They were deliriously deep and blue. "Anna, I left you all alone."

"I'm not alone now," Anna said quickly, "and neither are you. Elsa, come _home_. Come back to Arendelle with me, please."

It was a pointed blow, targeting Elsa at her weakest. Anna immediately felt intensely guilty for it; but not enough, in the end, to take it back.

Elsa stared at her for a long moment. The ice shifting around her feet was ebbing. Finally she nodded once, shallowly, and Anna felt the whole of her body slacken in relief.

She scooted closer, so that there were mere feet between them. The ice died completely in her wake. "Elsa," she said, "it's not your fault you got lost, okay? If anything it was my fault for—"

"What?" Elsa sniffled, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean that night." When Elsa just stared she continued, "I'm the one who woke you up to play; I'm the one who jumped off a tower of snow without watching where I was going." She shrugged, a bitter smile twisting her lips. She had the realization during Elsa's story, but had been too ashamed to make any mention of it. "None of it would have happened if I wasn't such a klutz."

"No," Elsa said sharply. "It was my fault; I should have caught you. I should have controlled my powers."

"Do you have any idea how many tall things I've fallen from and hurt myself?" She shrugged again. "I mean if the staff couldn't figure out how to stop me, I don't think you could have. Maybe you should have just let me fall."

"I couldn't do that." Elsa sounded stricken.

"Right. So. I'm a klutz, and you were trying to help me." Elsa frowned and made to protest, so she said, "And it wasn't anyone's fault."

Elsa stared at her. She didn't look quite sad anymore, or frightened. Anna couldn't read her look at all. But she did look like she might speak, and Anna held her breath in anticipation.

Then there was a noise at the door, and they turned to watch Sven mosey in, followed by Olaf.

"Hey, guys!" he cried. "There you are! Sven here was worried about you."

Sven walked up to Anna, sniffing at her and then chewing on the end of one braid. She gently tugged her hair loose. "We're fine, Olaf," she said, then looked at Elsa. "Right?"

Elsa hadn't broken eye contact with her. She nodded, and although her face was still tense she was able to smile faintly.

"Are you sleeping out here?" Olaf asked. "Hang on, I'll get you some more blankets." He trotted off. Sven huffed happily and laid down next to the women. Anna smiled and scratched his haunch, and Elsa experimentally rubbed his ears.

Olaf returned shortly with a big pile of thick quilts and furs. Anna spread them beside Sven, saying, "He makes a pretty decent pillow." Elsa almost laughed at that. Soon enough they were lying together beneath the blankets. Anna realized with a mild shock that this was as close as they had been since their earlier embrace.

For a moment Elsa's fingers brushed hers. Anna reached and grasped, but they had already withdrawn. On her other side Elsa poked a hand from beneath the bedding and placed it flat against the ice. The shapes embedded within the walls began shifting and sparkling, snowflakes bursting and blooming and fading to flower anew. It was gorgeous, but the look on Elsa's face was somber. Anna doubted she was simply putting on a show.

Still, whatever the reason for the display, it was amazing. Anna watched as stars winked in and out of view as the ceiling rippled, the ice looking almost alive. What would it have been like, she wondered, to be able to see such magic every day? If Elsa hadn't gotten lost, would she have put on such displays for Anna every night? If she had grown up watching Elsa use her powers, would she marvel at them still, or would they have eventually begun to seem normal?

It was too late for such questions now. She reached again, and found Elsa's idle hand. Her fingers were tense, and didn't wrap around Anna's in return. But she didn't pull away either.

Anna fell asleep to the sight of magic.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I'm mostly posting this as a way to say that I won't be updating this story here anymore. That's why there was a bit of a gap between updates; I just didn't feel like posting it here. This website doesn't give good enough editing options, and I'm tired of having to mangle the formatting to get it to work here. If you're really interested, I'll be continuing to update on ArchiveOfOurOwn weekly Sunday or Monday.

* * *

Anna woke to Kristoff and Jonne staring down at them. Jonne was grinning broadly, and Kristoff looked distinctly put out.

"Well," Jonne was saying, "he could sleep with two beautiful women, or he could sleep with…" She tracked her eyes up and down Kristoff. "...you." She shrugged. "Can't blame him for that choice."

Kristoff sighed deeply and nudged the slowly stirring reindeer. "Come on Sven, it's time to wake up."

Anna groaned, stretched, and finally sat up. Elsa made a soft, sleepy sound next to her, and curled more tightly against Sven. At some point in the evening she had rolled from her back to her side facing Anna, and now she was almost in a ball.

Then Sven lifted his head and bleated, and she shrieked, jolting away and clawing at the air. Jonne was laughing immediately, nearly doubled over with it, and although Anna's first reaction was alarm she couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up.

"Are you alright?" she managed to ask.

Elsa buried her face in her hands. "Pillows don't move." Then she dropped them to glare at Anna. "Pillows don't move!"

"Sorry," Anna said, but the truth was that Elsa looked fairly ridiculous with her face still slack from sleep and a fur texture pressed into one cheek, and Anna couldn't have stopped grinning if she wanted to. "I should have mentioned that."

Elsa groaned, and then Jonne was hauling her up. "I smell like reindeer," she grumbled. Jonne laughed, pressed a nose against her neck for a sniff, and gave her cheek a wet kiss. Elsa grunted and pushed her away, flapping her hands aimlessly. "I'm going to wash my face. Someone make breakfast, please."

"I really am sorry," Anna called as Elsa walked out of the room. Her amusement was quickly fading. It might only have been the rough awakening or lingering exhaustion that was souring Elsa's mood, but Anna had seen the look in her eyes last night, and knew something like that couldn't fade away so simply.

Then Elsa stopped in the doorway to glance over her shoulder, one side of her mouth quirked in a soft smile. And Anna beamed.

"She never was one for mornings," Jonne said. "Well!" She clapped Kristoff on the shoulder. "You heard her. Go make breakfast."

—

After breakfast (which had been prepared by Jonne in a pretend huff), Elsa led them out the front entrance of the ice castle. It was the first time they had been able to see the entire thing, and Kristoff looked very close to crying.

Honestly Anna didn't know what to expect next. Her plan—if such a thing could be said to exist—was half formed and ill thought out. Each step had seemed so perfectly impossible that there hadn't seemed a point to coming up with the one after. All she had now was _Get Elsa back to Arendelle_, but it was currently clashing with _I don't want to deal with the court right now_.

Best to let Elsa lead then, at least for now. Elsa had been thoughtful and soft spoken at breakfast, although Anna didn't know yet if that was normal or a result of her tumultuous evening. She didn't have a baseline for her sister yet, and didn't know how or even if she should test Elsa's mood.

She'd have to learn. They had time now after all. There was no hurry anymore. "So," she said once she had managed to tear her eyes away from the admittedly gorgeous castle, "what did you want to do today?"

Elsa said, "Well," and waved her hands, trailing bright, sparkling ribbons of frost from them. Anna gasped in delight.

Elsa could summon snow drifts, and send them whipping around in intricate windblown patterns. She could make a snowstorm sprout from thin air, the snowflakes materializing without a cloud to seed them. Ice sculptures, perfectly formed with unbelievably intricate details, sprouted from the ground. There was a strange light in the magic, bright sparks and flickers that lit up the ice independently of the sheen of the sun. Most fascinating of all almost was the casually graceful way she wove spells with her fingers and the sway of her arms, completely at ease with magic that made Anna's jaw drop and Kristoff choke on his breath.

"I have to be careful making things out of snow," she said while Anna gaped. "Sometimes they come alive."

"That's...wow. _Wow_," Anna said. Of course she knew it was true—Olaf was trotting next to her after all—but she could hardly imagine that kind of power. "Okay. Can you control that? I mean when that happens?"

"I'm getting better at it," Elsa said. "But I'm still careful. Just in case."

They'd been wandering idly away from the castle to give Elsa space for her creations. Now Kristoff let out a low whistle and pointed at a jumbled ice structure. "What's that?"

"Huh." Jonne slanted a hand over her eyes to look. "I think it used to be a ship or something."

"No, that's our summer cottage now, remember?" Olaf said. "I made a garden in the back!"

"We don't always clean up after ourselves," Elsa admitted.

"Right!" Jonne planted her hands on her hips, then reached out to tap Kristoff's arm. "Snowball fight. Me 'n you versus the princesses over there."

"What?" Kristoff said immediately. "No way. She can _control snow_. That hardly seems fair."

"Aw," Anna called with a laugh, "scared you'll get your butt kicked?"

"_Yes_."

Jonne sighed. "Alright, fine. Olaf, you're on our team too."

"I said _no_—"

"Too late." She pegged a snowball expertly at Anna's face, leaving the princess sputtering and spitting.

Elsa tsked, her eyes narrowing playfully. "You're going to regret that." She materialized a snowball in each hand and handed one to Anna.

"Oh no," Kristoff groaned.

The fight was brutal, but surprisingly lengthy, since every time Kristoff seemed close to surrender Jonne would begin it anew. Plus he and Jonne seemed as likely to shove each other in the snow as to launch a successful assault. Finally the two of them lay panting, cheeks red and clothes covered in flecks of ice, while Anna stood over them and gloated.

"We give," Kristoff gasped.

"Never!" Jonne cried, thrusting a fist into the air. Kristoff knocked a snowdrift onto her face. "Okay fine."

He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. "Have you ever won a snowball fight against her?"

"Yes," Jonne said.

"Really?"

"No, of course not."

Anna laughed and helped Kristoff to his feet. "That wasn't really fair," she admitted. "But it was _amazing_." She looked to Elsa and beamed. She couldn't remember the last time she had simply played like that. There was too much to do in Arendelle, too many responsibilities and people watching her.

Now Elsa watched her, her eyes bright and a soft smile on her lips. Olaf's disembodied torso, which (along with the rest of him) had been lobbed back and forth several times as well, wandered past.

"Little help?" his head called, and Kristoff quickly put him back together.

"Is this what you do all day?" Kristoff asked.

"Pretty much," Olaf said. "Elsa says we can play as much as we want!"

Anna grinned and clapped her hands together. "Then what will we play next?"

"Sledding's always fun," Jonne said, "but only if you go with Elsa because she can magic you back up the mountains. And there's four of us—"

"First!" Anna cried, thrusting her hand into the air.

"—so we…" Jonne trailed off and looked at her, looking distinctly impressed.

Elsa chuckled and with a wave of her hand created an ice sled. Anna bet it got _amazing_ speed. "Shall we then?"

—

_I've located Princess Elsa. We will both be returning to Arendelle shortly._

Well she couldn't send that. There were already too many questions flying around the court about her abrupt trip, and a letter like this would only spawn a million more.

But try as she might she couldn't find anymore words. Fully explaining everything would take more than a letter; it would be a novel, and she wasn't sure her vocabulary was up to snuff anyway. And what did it matter in the end how it had happened as long as she got Elsa home again? "Kristoff?"

"Hm?"

"Theoretically, how would you sum up this whole trip? In three paragraphs or less."

He stared at her incredulously. "Had a terrible time with boats and found out snow magic is real?"

"You're no help." She sighed and tapped her pen against the rough hewn wooden table. Most of the furniture in the castle itself was made out of ice with furs and pillows draped across it, not really appropriate to lay parchment on, so she and Kristoff had retreated to the cave/kitchen area to make use of the plain wood table down there.

Well. That was one reason, anyway. Their play this afternoon had seemed marvelously fun and _easy_ most of all. However, on their return to the ice castle Elsa had asked Jonne to come upstairs with her in a soft voice that clearly wasn't meant to extend to anyone else, and Anna had thought it best to give them their privacy. Being alone in a grand building forged from Elsa's own magic, which seemed almost a reflection of Elsa herself, made her feel more like an intruder than a guest. The natural stone walls of the cave felt more appropriate somehow.

Jonne ambled into the cave. "Time to start thinking about supper, yeah?"

"We are _not_ cooking for you," Kristoff said flatly.

"No, but you'll help me check the traps for game if you want to eat tonight."

Kristoff paused and glanced at Anna, looking distinctly pained. _Help me_, his eyes said. She smiled and remained silent. "Fine," he said. "Fine. Let's go before it gets too late."

Jonne grinned and then for some reason winked at Anna. Sven trotted after them as they headed out the back of the cave; then she heard Kristoff's muffled voice and the reindeer wandered back, looking forlorn. Elsa's ice tower had been a one way trip, and he was stuck up here for now.

Anna spent several minutes more staring at the abbreviated letter and not managing to write a single stroke. Then she heard a soft footstep, and looked up to see Elsa in the doorway.

The sight still caught her breath. Quickly, Anna scanned her sister. She looked alright; no tear tracks that Anna could see, and while her posture was still a bit stiff her face was smooth and her expression warm. "Hi," she said dumbly.

"Hi," Elsa replied. She glanced around the room. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, well, Jonne went to go check the traps, and she took Kristoff with her. Um, I haven't seen Olaf in a while though."

Elsa had made her way down the steps leading into the cave, and paused at the base of them, looking at Anna in vague confusion. "The traps?"

"Yeah." Anna shrugged. "For dinner, I guess."

Elsa stared for a second more. Then her mouth began twitching into a half-smile. "We don't trap food."

"What?"

"The wolves hunt for us." She nearly had a full smile now, and pressed her lips together to try and suppress it. "There's no traps on this entire mountain as far as I know."

"Oh." Anna blinked. "Oh! Oh, well...heh, Kristoff's going to be mad when he figures that out."

"I'm sorry," Elsa said. "She's always been—"

"No no, it's fine! I mean," Anna waved her hands dismissively, "Kristoff might not be so happy, but it's fine, he's a mountain guy."

Elsa smiled full out now, and walked towards the table to look over Anna's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Anna wanted to hide the contents of the letter for some reason; maybe because they hadn't mentioned Arendelle once since the previous night, and part of her was afraid that if she were to bring it up Elsa would take back her word. But she held her hands still and watched as Elsa read the scant missive. "Writing a letter to send back home. So everyone knows what to expect." She wanted to twist her hands together, but settled for tucking a braid behind her ear. "It's harder than I thought. I don't really know what to say."

While Elsa pulled back it was with a crease between her eyebrows and thinned lips. But her expression smoothed out again quickly enough, and she said, "Why don't you work on it later? Tell me about Arendelle."

"Of course," Anna said at once, standing to face her. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." Elsa's smile looked sad now. "Everything I missed."

Anna told her everything. Every detail she could remember from her childhood, which wasn't much anymore, but she tried all the same. Every moment she wished Elsa could have seen in person, which was all of them.

By the time Kristoff finally returned they were curled together on a couch, Anna's head in Elsa's lap while she chattered and gestured animatedly. "No game," he snarled, stomping the snow off his boots. "None at all! How can someone who lives in the mountains be so bad at trapping?"

Anna bit her lip and sat up. She was surprised to realize from the slant of the sun that at least a few hours had passed. "Well…"

"I don't know how you haven't starved yet," he said to Elsa. She squeezed her lips together again, doing a better job of hiding her giggles than Anna.

Kristoff looked between them and sighed. "What now?"

"There, uh, are no traps, Kristoff," Anna said.

"What."

"I think she was just trying to get you out of the building…?"

"_What_."

Just then Jonne entered, looked at everyone, and smiled. "Had a good time then?" she asked the sisters.

Kristoff glared at her. "They said there were no traps. But I know you didn't just drag me all across this mountain for no reason."

Jonne stared at him for a minute, then slapped his chest. "You mean you forgot to put out the traps?" She threw her arms into the air. "Useless!"

"You—you—!" He flexed his fingers, growling. Jonne grinned at him, then pivoted on her heel and walked casually away.

"I'm hungry," she said cheerfully. "Who's cooking?"

—

The next morning Anna woke before Elsa again. Kristoff gave her a look that said he was clearly surprised to see her up so early, and willingly at that, but the thin bedrolls and excessive natural light in the ice castle meant she hadn't been sleeping especially well. Not that she'd ever say a word about it to Elsa.

She returned to her letter, meaning to finish it before Elsa woke up. Still no words would come, and after another quarter hour staring at the mostly empty page she signed it in a fit of frustration, sealed it, and handed it to Jonne when she wandered through.

"Do you think you could find someone to deliver this to the postmaster?" she asked.

Jonne turned the paper over in her hands. "I'm sure I could, but the courier would cost a bit of coin." Anna rummaged through her coat and handed over her coin purse. Jonne blinked at it, pursed her lips, and handed it back. "No, this doesn't feel right. Here, you try to fight me off and I'll take it from you."

"What? No, you can have it." Anna handed it back to her. Jonne pouted, but went for her coat and cap.

As soon as she had disappeared from the room Anna was filled with regret. That was undoubtedly a poor decision. But maybe even a short letter was better than none at all, and she could spend an eternity waiting for the right words.

Elsa found her a few minutes later. Her eyes were still sleepy, but her hair was neatly braided. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Anna said.

"Olaf wants to show you his garden," she said. "If that's alright."

"Absolutely," Anna chirped.

One corner of Elsa's mouth quirked in a smile. "And later you have to finish telling me what you did with the atlas Master Niels got you."

Anna gave a bark of laughter. "I will, but you have to promise never to tell him."

"It's a deal," Elsa said.

* * *

There was a part of Elsa that wanted to be able to play and talk with Anna forever, or at least a lifetime. To make up for the lifetime she had missed. And she certainly tried to. But deeper than that was a jittery chill that said she needed quiet, needed space, or she wouldn't be able to hold together. It wasn't anything against Anna, who was bright and cheerful and agonizingly fearful of pushing Elsa away. So Elsa was gentle and smiled even when she didn't meant it. It was alright, she thought. It wasn't a lie because she wanted to mean it.

But she was used to just Jonne, who was affectionate but independent, and Olaf, who only needed simple attention. Now her home was twice as full, at least three times as noisy, and she didn't know how to deal with it anymore. Their play this morning had tired her out more than she expected, even though Jonne hadn't even shown up until the morning was half gone, apparently off on some errand or other. It wouldn't be so bad in the evening, she knew, when Jonne would distract Kristoff with half made up chores and she could quietly send Olaf away. When it was only her and Anna talking to all hours of the night. But for now it was too much, and she needed at least a short break.

She felt terribly guilty for it. Would have felt even worse trying to explain it to Anna. So she took Jonne upstairs after their morning games under the pretense of needing to talk. She didn't want to talk to anyone, not really, but Jonne made a decent buffer. It was easier, certainly, than telling Anna that she just wanted a little while alone, and in doing so implying she didn't want to be around her sister.

Because Anna really was the brightest and best part of her day. Her confusion had faded, and while she still sometimes looked at Anna—at her _sister_—with a measure of disbelief it felt more real all the time. Especially now that Anna was filling in her childhood so completely, beginning shortly after Elsa had disappeared and going through the following years in order, just the way Elsa would have experienced it if she had been there.

She told her own stories too, but didn't stay to any particular order. Instead she plucked out the most interesting ones to share, and left out the times she and Jonne had simply been tired or hungry or hurt. She tried to make it sound like an adventure instead of the toil it typically had been.

(_Off adventuring_ wasn't a good enough reason to have abandoned Anna, but it was all she could manage right now, and Anna was still too nervous to ask too many questions. The truth would come out in time.)

In the quiet moments she thought of her parents. She had expected a deep and abiding grief. Instead, after the jagged shock had worn off, she felt mostly a sense of unease and hazy confusion. She had hardly known them, after all. The idea of them was more complete in her head than the actual man and woman themselves were, and how could she grieve someone she didn't know?

Jonne was in the corner cleaning some leather. "Do you ever miss your mother?" Elsa asked her.

She paused, thought, and then rolled her shoulder into a shrug. "Can't say that I do."

Elsa frowned. "Not ever?"

"Not that I remember, no."

"I've missed your mother sometimes."

"That's good, then, that someone did."

Elsa bit her lip and wrung her hands together. "You sound cold when you talk like that."

"I don't mean to." Jonne looked up. "I love her all the same, of course, but what does it mean to miss her? That I want her with me, or myself with her? I haven't felt that, no."

Elsa sighed and sat on the floor next to her. "Don't you want to be with the people you love?"

"I suppose? Only it doesn't matter if I'm with them or not. Why should love depend on that?"

Elsa tipped her head against Jonne's shoulder. "I can't tell if you're very clever about love or if you don't really understand it at all."

"You'll not go wrong betting on my dullness." She slung an arm around Elsa and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then I suppose I know well enough after all."

They sat in silence for several minutes more. Elsa needed the quiet. Needed to be able to center herself. But the deep chill in her bones was fading, and now she needed to see Anna more.

So with one more squeeze from Jonne she stood up, steadied herself, and went to find her sister.

—

Jonne scampered into the room in front of Elsa. She grinned at Kristoff and opened her mouth.

"No," he said at once. "We're not going with you anywhere ever again."

Jonne planted her hands on her hips. "Well that seems a poor way to repay my hospitality."

"Hospi—" He ground his teeth. Elsa could hardly blame him. The evening after the "trapping," Jonne had invited him to gather firewood, a legitimate chore that somehow ended up with him returning covered in sticky sap and thistles. The next she had cajoled him and Sven into going into town to help her haul supplies, only to return with nothing more than a new belt and some spices. She wasn't sure what scheme Jonne had cooked up this time, but she wouldn't have trusted her either.

Anna watched the goings on and laughed. She was draped across one of the ice chairs, and Elsa grabbed a pillow and a few furs and summoned another one right across from her. "You don't even know what she's going to say," Anna pointed out.

"I don't _care_ what she's going to say."

"Well!" Jonne huffed. "I see how grateful you've been brought up to be. I'll go all on my own then." She stalked out of the room, giving Anna a cheeky smirk along the way.

"Kristoff, just go with her," Anna said. "Me and Elsa aren't going to be doing anything except talking."

"Well…" Kristoff said with a scowl, "...maybe I want to talk to Elsa."

Anna's eyebrows shot up. Elsa smiled encouragingly at him and said, "Of course." She extended her chair with a wave, turning it into a short couch, and patted the spot next to her.

Kristoff hesitated. They hadn't really gotten a chance to talk at all yet; almost everything she knew about him was from Anna's stories, which had only just reached her ninth birthday. But the boy in her stories was a constant playmate and an obviously deeply cared for companion (the one Elsa should have been), and she did very genuinely want to know him.

He took a seat next to her, sitting stiff and straight with his hands on his knees. He opened his mouth and said, "So...ice."

Anna burst into laughter, tipping against an armrest. "Are you serious?" she gasped.

He glared at her, crossed his arms, and said, "Hey, Elsa, did Anna tell you about the time she was eleven and had a cake—"

"NO!" Anna shot through the gap between their seats, landing hard in the sliver of space between Elsa and Kristoff and slapping her hands over Kristoff's mouth.

He laughed and pried her hands away. "See there was this Spanish dignitary—"

"_Kristoff_!" There wasn't really enough space on the couch for her, and she writhed half on Elsa's lap, with Elsa dodging her elbows as she tried in vain to silence Kristoff again.

Elsa giggled and pulled Anna fully in her lap. "So," she said, "_ice_."

"Right." Kristoff made a quick face at Anna. "So I'm an ice harvester."

"Anna told me."

"Yeah?" He looked both surprised and pleased. "Well, I was kinda wondering, can you make ice that doesn't melt?"

"I can," she said, "if I want to."

He let out a low whistle. "Well hell, that would drive me right out of business."

She laughed. "Don't worry, it's not for sale."

"Ooh!" Anna cried. "You two could go into business together! 'Arendelle Never Melting Ice' or something!"

"But what do we do after we've sold the ice to everyone in Arendelle?" he asked.

"Take over the world, obviously."

"Ambitious," Elsa chuckled. She squeezed Anna's hips and then gently pushed her up. "How did you learn to harvest ice?"

Kristoff beamed. "Well…"

By the time Jonne returned from whatever errand (or more likely game) she had been entertaining herself with, they were all three reclined and laughing easily. "I found one of Olaf's arms," she said, holding it up. It writhed independently of its host.

"Oh dear." Elsa stood. "Have you sent the hounds after him?"

"Yep. Hopefully he hasn't gone too far though. It's going to start storming out there." She held the twig to her back, and it scratched her obligingly enough. "Ooh."

Anna stood as well, looking nervous. "Will he be alright?"

"Oh, sure enough," Jonne said. "The hounds run as well through snow as through anything, and he's been in a worse way before."

"Jonne's put him in a worse way before," Elsa murmured.

Jonne grinned. "Impressive he put himself back together though, isn't it?"

Kristoff had joined them, and Elsa leaned over to him and said, "When Anna was four she got her dress stuck on the top branches of a tree she was climbing, and Papa had to go up and carry her down naked."

Kristoff choked, and Anna gasped. "Elsa!" She just laughed.

—

The storm lasted for four days. Each day Anna looked a little more nervous, but Elsa was mostly grateful for the chance to breathe. To prepare herself.

She was going back to Arendelle.

She had never thought she would, and still wasn't sure that she actually wanted to. After so long there would be nothing familiar in Arendelle. And she didn't...didn't know what responsibilities or expectations were waiting for her. She was quite sure whatever they were she wouldn't be up to fulfilling them.

But Anna would be in Arendelle with her, and that was all that mattered.

Once the storm had abated Kristoff and Jonne bundled up the furs and the books and anything else they didn't need to carry with them, and delivered it all to the healer's hut. Elsa sent along most of her wardrobe as well. None of it was appropriate for a royal palace, but she kept a few of the least worn dresses.

She still wasn't quite sure what to do with Olaf. She made him a small flurry to follow him around and cool him in anticipation of the trip down the mountain, but he couldn't travel like that indefinitely. The cloud and fluttering snowflakes would be impossible to hide. She'd just have to keep him close to cool him if need be.

Not that he seemed to have any fear about his potential melting. He ran around while the castle was cleaned, asking about gardens and summertime birds and what the animals of the forest looked like without their winter coats.

After the last question he stumbled to a stop and asked, "What are we going to do about Snowy and Marigold and Lily and Chilly and—"

"They'll be fine on the mountain," Elsa interrupted.

His face fell. "We're leaving them?"

"Yes." She stooped to his level. "But they'll have each other, and it'll be alright."

"And we're going to your home?"

Was it? She didn't know anymore, but it was past time to find out. "Yes."

He smiled and patted her shoulder. "I bet it'll be amazing!"

"Yeah." Her lips wobbled, and she quickly stood up.

As the last thing she pulled apart the ice castle and their leftover play places. She whispered to the wolves. "Guard the mountain, and if you see a fallen traveller bring them to the village." She didn't know if the command would do any good, but she felt as though she owed at least that to the people she had been quietly protecting.

"Are you ready?" Anna asked. She had been quiet in deference to Elsa's obvious unease.

If it had been Jonne asking she would have said, "No," and gone down the mountain anyway, because they both knew that some things had to be done regardless of the cost, and that she wouldn't let her feelings get in the way of her responsibilities. But it was Anna who was asking, Anna who she had already hurt, so she smiled as well as she could and said, "Yes."

Then there was nothing to do but leave.

She wasn't sorry to come down from the mountain. It had never been home after all. But she was anxious and edgy, and watched the mountain fade from the back of Kristoff's sled.

—

They stopped outside the little port city where Anna's ship was docked to finally figure out what to do with Olaf (who had caused no end of trouble on the ride by skipping off the sled to chase insects of pick flowers).

"He can stay in the royal suite with me," Anna said. "There's plenty of room, and no one should bother us."

"But how are we going to get him there?" Kristoff asked.

"Just wrap him up like luggage," Jonne said with a shrug. "S'long as he doesn't talk or move on the way in it'll be fine."

"Mum's the word!" Olaf cried.

Jonne tapped her lips. "Elsa maybe you ought to freeze him so's he doesn't make a mistake."

"That's terrible," Anna said at once, but Elsa just bit her lip.

"Just for a little while, Olaf," she said. "So you won't melt."

"Don't worry, I understand," he said. "Icicle mode, go!" He held his arms down close against his sides, then cleverly plucked off his carrot nose and tucked it under his chin so it wouldn't stick out.

Elsa covered him in a layer of ice, and Jonne quickly wrapped him up with some leather and rope, and shoved the whole bundle into Kristoff's arms.

"Okay then." Anna's smile was wobbly when she looked to Elsa. "Let's go find the ship."

The ship was a sleek one, much finer than anything else in the harbor. A short, stocky man with a pockmarked and uneven face lumbered down the gangplank towards them. He glared at Elsa with a fair amount of suspicion. "Captain Hagen," Anna said, "this is my sister Princess Elsa."

Elsa wasn't quite sure his face had any elasticity left to convey understanding or surprise. He simply stared at her mutely for a moment, then said, "So you'll be wanting to set sail soon?"

"As soon as possible, please," she confirmed.

"It'll take a few hours to gather the men and the supplies, miss."

"Oh." Anna tapped her fists together. "Well. Just...as soon as possible, like I said." There was a waver to her voice that Elsa wanted to ask about, but before she could Anna turned to the rest of the group and said brightly, "So! Anyone want to go shopping before we leave then?"

"I haven't got any money," Jonne said immediately, which Elsa knew wasn't strictly true.

"That's alright. I need to close the crew's accounts with local merchants anyway. Just take what you like." Jonne beamed, and Elsa fought back a sigh.

Over the next two hours Jonne must have asked if she could buy everything in the town that wasn't bolted down and could conceivably be carted away. Over and over Anna agreed, only for her to quickly abandon whatever bauble had caught her eye and move on to the next thing. For the first hour her expression got increasingly more ecstatic. In the second it slowly turned contemplative.

"I don't know if there's room in the hold for that wagon," Anna eventually said, "but if you want we could get it shipped back to Arendelle."

Jonne scratched her chin and looked at Elsa dolefully. "All this time we could have had the coffers of a kingdom behind us."

"As if I'd let you near the kingdom coffers," she retorted.

"As if you could keep me out of them," Jonne shot back.

Elsa rolled her eyes. "Stop fooling around. Do you want anything or not?"

Jonne smirked, and she regretted asking at once.

In the end she bought new, sturdy boots and a pistol. Elsa picked out a new dress and some thin leather gloves.

When they made it back to the ship Kristoff and Sven were already on deck. "I, uh, put your luggage in your room," he told Anna as they climbed the gangplank.

"Thank you," she said. "Captain?"

"Aye?"

"Elsa will be staying in my chambers. Please find a bed for Jonne here."

"Aye, miss."

"And I'm going to ask that no one bother me in my chambers except in an emergency."

Elsa thought he took a beat too long to answer, but then he said, "Aye, miss," again. Anna led Elsa below deck.

The bundle containing Olaf was propped in a corner. They quickly let him loose, and Elsa summoned his little flurry again. "Thanks, guys!" he said. "It was dark in there."

"Now Olaf," Anna said, "we don't want to be too loud, okay? We're being sneaky."

"Oooooooh." He winked and whispered, "Gotcha."

Elsa, meanwhile, was looking around the room. There were many, many books, which immediately gave her a thrill. But besides that the chambers were oddly appointed. The furniture was dark and masculine, with weaponry for decoration and no paintings, which she seemed to remember were a focal point of the Castle Arendelle's decorations. Had this been their father's boat?

Anna was wringing her hands and biting her lip. Alarm tingled up the back of Elsa's neck, but she forced herself to remain calm. "It looks different than I was expecting," she said.

"Yeah." Anna cleared her throat, and then tugged a thin leather necklace from beneath her dress. Elsa had noticed the band around her neck, but it hadn't seemed worth asking about. "Well, it's not my boat, exactly."

"Oh?"

Anna had pulled off the necklace and now picked at the knot with nervous fingers. There was a charm hanging from it that Elsa couldn't quite see in the dim half light below deck. "It's from the Southern Isles. It, ah, belongs to Prince Hans of the Southern Isles."

"Ah." That was strange, wasn't it? Arendelle was a seafaring kingdom, and surely there were many boats in the Royal Navy for use. But all she said was, "It was kind of him to loan it, then."

"Yeah." Anna had managed to work the charm from the leather band, and slipped it on her finger. Elsa suddenly realized it was a ring. "He's...he's my fiancé."

Elsa felt nearly as dumbfounded as when Jonne had first told her of the woman she had found in the mountains. A fiancé? Anna—Anna, her baby sister, who had gotten into a snowball fight with her and laughed so brightly while sledding—was _engaged_?

"Elsa?" She blinked and found Anna twisting her fingers together and looking intensely guilty. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't mean to hide it, it's just that we were talking about when we were kids, and I only got up to when I was fourteen in my stories and I didn't meet Hans until I was seventeen, and I knew I had to but I didn't know how to?" She winced at whatever she saw in Elsa's face. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"No," Elsa said distantly. "No, that's—I'm surprised, that's all."

Anna winced again. "I'm sorry."

"No. It's just…" She shook her head. "You've grown up."

"Yeah," Anna said quietly.

"I've always wanted to see a wedding!" Olaf cried. Then he clapped his hands over his mouth, and lowered his voice to say, "Can I come to your wedding, Anna?"

"Of course," she said warmly. Elsa wanted to tell her not to promise things she couldn't deliver, but the words died on her tongue. Maybe things would be different in Arendelle after all. Olaf squealed, but then was distracted by the globe fastened to a desk, and went to spin it.

Anna was still nervously twisting her hands though, and blurted, "Are you and Jonne lovers?"

Ah. "No," Elsa said. "Not anymore."

"Oh, so you…" Anna frowned. "Well, why not? It was just the two of you up there, right?"

"That's a terrible reason to be with someone," Elsa pointed out.

"Right!" Anna said quickly. "Right, of course, I'm sorry—"

"And it was most of the reason." Elsa gave a half smile and shrugged. "That's just not who we were to each other in the end. We're better as friends."

Anna flapped her hands. "Oh no, I totally get it. I mean, I love Kristoff and everything, but I can't imagine kissing him. I don't even want to think about all the secondhand reindeer spit I would get."

Elsa blinked. "He, ah, kisses Sven?"

"No no—well," Anna rolled her eyes, "of course he does, who am I kidding. Plus they share food, like each taking a bit and...uh, he's, he's a nice guy."

"He is," Elsa said.

Anna smiled. Then the ship lurched, and she paled. At the look of concern on Elsa's face she said, "I don't really like ships."

"Well." Elsa took her hand and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. "What can we do to help?"

A smile flickered half-heartedly across Anna's lips. "Tell me another story?" Elsa was casting her mind about when Anna said, "Maybe something you remember from Arendelle?"

From the desk Olaf clapped his hands, then dropped his chin into them. "Yeah, story time!"

Elsa paused, redirecting her thoughts. "...Do you remember we used to have two dolls that looked like us? We got them for Christmas."

"Yes!" Anna said at once. "They're still in my room! I thought it was sweet how Mama and Papa gave me the one that looked like you, and you got the one that looked like me."

Elsa smiled widely at that, and felt some of her tension at Anna's news begin to dissipate. "That's not quite what happened."

Anna blinked. "What?"

"That was...oh, you must have been three, because I think I was six. And you couldn't read yet, of course. So when there were two identical boxes you just started opening the one closest to you, even though it was my present."

Her eyes were wide with dawning realization. "So…"

"You were supposed to get the Anna doll, and I was supposed to get the Elsa doll."

"Aw!" She smiled at Elsa. "And you let me have your doll."

"No," Elsa said with a laugh. "No, I was so mad. I didn't care that the dolls were almost the same, I just knew you had opened one of my presents and wouldn't give it back. Mama actually got really angry with me and told me to just let you play."

Anna laughed. "Oh no!"

"Well, I was only six. And I think I liked your doll better once I had calmed down."

"They were together all the time anyway."

"That's right," Elsa said softly. Anna sighed happily and dropped back on the bed. Elsa laid down next to her.

"I'm glad you're coming home." Anna took her hand and squeezed it.

"Me too," Elsa said, returning the squeeze. And in saying it, she realized it was true.


End file.
